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created on 25 May 2025
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got_path## [1] "C:/Users/sofie/OneDrive/Dokumenter/AU/Tilvalg Historie/Digitale arkiver og metoder/Zipfiler/SentimentAnalysis-main/SentimentAnalysis-main/data/got.pdf"got_text <- pdf_text(got_path)
got_text## [1] ""
## [2] " A GAME OF THRONES\n\n\n Book One of A Song of Ice and Fire\n\n\n By George R.R. Martin\nContents\nMaps\nThe North\nThe South\n\n\n\n\n ● Prologue\n ● Chapter 1\n\n ● Chapter 2\n\n ● Chapter 3\n\n ● Chapter 4\n\n ● Chapter 5\n\n ● Chapter 6\n\n ● Chapter 7\n\n ● Chapter 8\n\n ● Chapter 9\n\n ● Chapter 10\n\n ● Chapter 11\n\n ● Chapter 12\n"
## [3] "● Chapter 13 ● Chapter 51\n● Chapter 14 ● Chapter 52\n\n● Chapter 15 ● Chapter 53\n\n● Chapter 16 ● Chapter 54\n\n● Chapter 17 ● Chapter 55\n\n● Chapter 18 ● Chapter 56\n\n● Chapter 19 ● Chapter 57\n\n● Chapter 20 ● Chapter 58\n\n● Chapter 21 ● Chapter 59\n\n● Chapter 22 ● Chapter 60\n\n● Chapter 23 ● Chapter 61\n\n● Chapter 24 ● Chapter 62\n\n● Chapter 25 ● Chapter 63\n\n● Chapter 26 ● Chapter 64\n\n● Chapter 27 ● Chapter 65\n\n● Chapter 28 ● Chapter 66\n\n● Chapter 29 ● Chapter 67\n\n● Chapter 30 ● Chapter 68\n\n● Chapter 31 ● Chapter 69\n\n● Chapter 32 ● Chapter 70\n\n● Chapter 33 ● Chapter 71\n\n● Chapter 34 ● Chapter 72\n\n● Chapter 35\n\n● Chapter 36\n\n● Chapter 37\n APPENDIX—The Houses\n● Chapter 38\n\n● Chapter 39 House Baratheon\n House Greyjoy\n● Chapter 40\n\n● Chapter 41 House Stark\n● Chapter 42\n House Martell\n● Chapter 43 House Lannister\n● Chapter 44\n House Targaryen\n● Chapter 45\n House Arryn\n● Chapter 46\n\n● Chapter 47\n House Tully\n● Chapter 48\n\n● Chapter 49\n\n● Chapter 50\n House Tyrell\n\n\n next\n"
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## [5] ":\n"
## [6] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n PROLOGUE\nWe should start back,” Gared urged as the woods began to grow dark around them. “The\nwildlings are dead.”\n\n“Do the dead frighten you?” Ser Waymar Royce asked with just the hint of a smile.\n\nGared did not rise to the bait. He was an old man, past fifty, and he had seen the\nlordlings come and go. “Dead is dead,” he said. “We have no business with the dead.”\n\n“Are they dead?” Royce asked softly. “What proof have we?”\n\n“Will saw them,” Gared said. “If he says they are dead, that’s proof enough for me.”\n\nWill had known they would drag him into the quarrel sooner or later. He wished it had\nbeen later rather than sooner. “My mother told me that dead men sing no songs,” he put\nin.\n\n“My wet nurse said the same thing, Will,” Royce replied. “Never believe anything you\nhear at a woman’s tit. There are things to be learned even from the dead.” His voice\nechoed, too loud in the twilit forest.\n\n“We have a long ride before us,” Gared pointed out. “Eight days, maybe nine. And night\nis falling.”\n\nSer Waymar Royce glanced at the sky with disinterest. “It does that every day about this\ntime. Are you unmanned by the dark, Gared?”\n\nWill could see the tightness around Gared’s mouth, the barely suppressed anger in his\neyes under the thick black hood of his cloak. Gared had spent forty years in the Night’s\nWatch, man and boy, and he was not accustomed to being made light of. Yet it was more\nthan that. Under the wounded pride, Will could sense something else in the older man.\nYou could taste it; a nervous tension that came perilous close to fear.\n\nWill shared his unease. He had been four years on the Wall. The first time he had been\nsent beyond, all the old stories had come rushing back, and his bowels had turned to\nwater. He had laughed about it afterward. He was a veteran of a hundred rangings by\n"
## [7] "now, and the endless dark wilderness that the southron called the haunted forest had no\nmore terrors for him.\n\nUntil tonight. Something was different tonight. There was an edge to this darkness that\nmade his hackles rise. Nine days they had been riding, north and northwest and then\nnorth again, farther and farther from the Wall, hard on the track of a band of wildling\nraiders. Each day had been worse than the day that had come before it. Today was the\nworst of all. A cold wind was blowing out of the north, and it made the trees rustle like\nliving things. All day, Will had felt as though something were watching him, something\ncold and implacable that loved him not. Gared had felt it too. Will wanted nothing so\nmuch as to ride hellbent for the safety of the Wall, but that was not a feeling to share\nwith your commander.\n\nEspecially not a commander like this one.\n\nSer Waymar Royce was the youngest son of an ancient house with too many heirs. He\nwas a handsome youth of eighteen, grey-eyed and graceful and slender as a knife.\nMounted on his huge black destrier, the knight towered above Will and Gared on their\nsmaller garrons. He wore black leather boots, black woolen pants, black moleskin gloves,\nand a fine supple coat of gleaming black ringmail over layers of black wool and boiled\nleather. Ser Waymar had been a Sworn Brother of the Night’s Watch for less than half a\nyear, but no one could say he had not prepared for his vocation. At least insofar as his\nwardrobe was concerned.\n\nHis cloak was his crowning glory; sable, thick and black and soft as sin. “Bet he killed\nthem all himself, he did,” Gared told the barracks over wine, “twisted their little heads\noff, our mighty warrior.” They had all shared the laugh.\n\nIt is hard to take orders from a man you laughed at in your cups, Will reflected as he sat\nshivering atop his garron. Gared must have felt the same.\n\n“Mormont said as we should track them, and we did,” Gared said. “They’re dead. They\nshan’t trouble us no more. There’s hard riding before us. I don’t like this weather. If it\nsnows, we could be a fortnight getting back, and snow’s the best we can hope for. Ever\nseen an ice storm, my lord?”\n\nThe lordling seemed not to hear him. He studied the deepening twilight in that half-\nbored, half-distracted way he had. Will had ridden with the knight long enough to\nunderstand that it was best not to interrupt him when he looked like that. “Tell me again\nwhat you saw, Will. All the details. Leave nothing out.”\n\nWill had been a hunter before he joined the Night’s Watch. Well, a poacher in truth.\n"
## [8] "Mallister freeriders had caught him red-handed in the Mallisters’ own woods, skinning\none of the Mallisters’ own bucks, and it had been a choice of putting on the black or\nlosing a hand. No one could move through the woods as silent as Will, and it had not\ntaken the black brothers long to discover his talent.\n\n“The camp is two miles farther on, over that ridge, hard beside a stream,” Will said. “I\ngot close as I dared. There’s eight of them, men and women both. No children I could\nsee. They put up a lean-to against the rock. The snow’s pretty well covered it now, but I\ncould still make it out. No fire burning, but the firepit was still plain as day. No one\nmoving. I watched a long time. No living man ever lay so still.”\n\n“Did you see any blood?”\n\n“Well, no,” Will admitted.\n\n“Did you see any weapons?”\n\n“Some swords, a few bows. One man had an axe. Heavy-looking, double-bladed, a cruel\npiece of iron. It was on the ground beside him, right by his hand.”\n\n“Did you make note of the position of the bodies?”\n\nWill shrugged. “A couple are sitting up against the rock. Most of them on the ground.\nFallen, like.”\n\n“Or sleeping,” Royce suggested.\n\n“Fallen,” Will insisted. “There’s one woman up an ironwood, half-hid in the branches. A\nfar-eyes.” He smiled thinly. “I took care she never saw me. When I got closer, I saw that\nshe wasn’t moving neither.” Despite himself, he shivered.\n\n“You have a chill?” Royce asked.\n\n“Some,” Will muttered. “The wind, m’lord.”\n\nThe young knight turned back to his grizzled man-at-arms. Frostfallen leaves whispered\npast them, and Royce’s destrier moved restlessly. “What do you think might have killed\nthese men, Gared?” Ser Waymar asked casually. He adjusted the drape of his long sable\ncloak.\n\n“It was the cold,” Gared said with iron certainty. “I saw men freeze last winter, and the\n"
## [9] "one before, when I was half a boy. Everyone talks about snows forty foot deep, and how\nthe ice wind comes howling out of the north, but the real enemy is the cold. It steals up\non you quieter than Will, and at first you shiver and your teeth chatter and you stamp\nyour feet and dream of mulled wine and nice hot fires. It burns, it does. Nothing burns\nlike the cold. But only for a while. Then it gets inside you and starts to fill you up, and\nafter a while you don’t have the strength to fight it. It’s easier just to sit down or go to\nsleep. They say you don’t feel any pain toward the end. First you go weak and drowsy,\nand everything starts to fade, and then it’s like sinking into a sea of warm milk. Peaceful,\nlike.”\n\n“Such eloquence, Gared,” Ser Waymar observed. “I never suspected you had it in you.”\n\n“I’ve had the cold in me too, lordling.” Gared pulled back his hood, giving Ser Waymar a\ngood long look at the stumps where his ears had been. “Two ears, three toes, and the\nlittle finger off my left hand. I got off light. We found my brother frozen at his watch,\nwith a smile on his face.”\n\nSer Waymar shrugged. “You ought dress more warmly, Gared.”\n\nGared glared at the lordling, the scars around his ear holes flushed red with anger where\nMaester Aemon had cut the ears away. “We’ll see how warm you can dress when the\nwinter comes.” He pulled up his hood and hunched over his garron, silent and sullen.\n\n“If Gared said it was the cold . . . ” Will began.\n\n“Have you drawn any watches this past week, Will?”\n\n“Yes, m’lord.” There never was a week when he did not draw a dozen bloody watches.\nWhat was the man driving at?\n\n“And how did you find the Wall?”\n\n“Weeping,” Will said, frowning. He saw it clear enough, now that the lordling had\npointed it out. “They couldn’t have froze. Not if the Wall was weeping. It wasn’t cold\nenough.”\n\nRoyce nodded. “Bright lad. We’ve had a few light frosts this past week, and a quick flurry\nof snow now and then, but surely no cold fierce enough to kill eight grown men. Men\nclad in fur and leather, let me remind you, with shelter near at hand, and the means of\nmaking fire.” The knight’s smile was cocksure. “Will, lead us there. I would see these\ndead men for myself.”\n"
## [10] "And then there was nothing to be done for it. The order had been given, and honor\nbound them to obey.\n\nWill went in front, his shaggy little garron picking the way carefully through the\nundergrowth. A light snow had fallen the night before, and there were stones and roots\nand hidden sinks lying just under its crust, waiting for the careless and the unwary. Ser\nWaymar Royce came next, his great black destrier snorting impatiently. The warhorse\nwas the wrong mount for ranging, but try and tell that to the lordling. Gared brought up\nthe rear. The old man-at-arms muttered to himself as he rode.\n\nTwilight deepened. The cloudless sky turned a deep purple, the color of an old bruise,\nthen faded to black. The stars began to come out. A half-moon rose. Will was grateful for\nthe light.\n\n“We can make a better pace than this, surely,” Royce said when the moon was full risen.\n\n“Not with this horse,” Will said. Fear had made him insolent. “Perhaps my lord would\ncare to take the lead?”\n\nSer Waymar Royce did not deign to reply.\n\nSomewhere off in the wood a wolf howled.\n\nWill pulled his garron over beneath an ancient gnarled ironwood and dismounted.\n\n“Why are you stopping?” Ser Waymar asked.\n\n“Best go the rest of the way on foot, m’lord. It’s just over that ridge.”\n\nRoyce paused a moment, staring off into the distance, his face reflective. A cold wind\nwhispered through the trees. His great sable cloak stirred behind like something half-\nalive.\n\n“There’s something wrong here,” Gared muttered.\n\nThe young knight gave him a disdainful smile. “Is there?”\n\n“Can’t you feel it?” Gared asked. “Listen to the darkness.”\n\nWill could feel it. Four years in the Night’s Watch, and he had never been so afraid.\nWhat was it?\n"
## [11] "“Wind. Trees rustling. A wolf. Which sound is it that unmans you so, Gared?” When\nGared did not answer, Royce slid gracefully from his saddle. He tied the destrier securely\nto a low-hanging limb, well away from the other horses, and drew his longsword from its\nsheath. Jewels glittered in its hilt, and the moonlight ran down the shining steel. It was a\nsplendid weapon, castle-forged, and new-made from the look of it. Will doubted it had\never been swung in anger.\n\n“The trees press close here,” Will warned. “That sword will tangle you up, m’lord. Better\na knife.”\n\n“If I need instruction, I will ask for it,” the young lord said. “Gared, stay here. Guard the\nhorses.”\n\nGared dismounted. “We need a fire. I’ll see to it.”\n\n“How big a fool are you, old man? If there are enemies in this wood, a fire is the last\nthing we want.”\n\n“There’s some enemies a fire will keep away,” Gared said. “Bears and direwolves\nand . . . and other things . . . ”\n\nSer Waymar’s mouth became a hard line. “No fire.”\n\nGared’s hood shadowed his face, but Will could see the hard glitter in his eyes as he\nstared at the knight. For a moment he was afraid the older man would go for his sword.\nIt was a short, ugly thing, its grip discolored by sweat, its edge nicked from hard use, but\nWill would not have given an iron bob for the lordling’s life if Gared pulled it from its\nscabbard.\n\nFinally Gared looked down. “No fire,” he muttered, low under his breath.\n\nRoyce took it for acquiescence and turned away. “Lead on,” he said to Will.\n\nWill threaded their way through a thicket, then started up the slope to the low ridge\nwhere he had found his vantage point under a sentinel tree. Under the thin crust of\nsnow, the ground was damp and muddy, slick footing, with rocks and hidden roots to\ntrip you up. Will made no sound as he climbed. Behind him, he heard the soft metallic\nslither of the lordling’s ringmail, the rustle of leaves, and muttered curses as reaching\nbranches grabbed at his longsword and tugged on his splendid sable cloak.\n\nThe great sentinel was right there at the top of the ridge, where Will had known it would\n"
## [12] "be, its lowest branches a bare foot off the ground. Will slid in underneath, flat on his\nbelly in the snow and the mud, and looked down on the empty clearing below.\n\nHis heart stopped in his chest. For a moment he dared not breathe. Moonlight shone\ndown on the clearing, the ashes of the firepit, the snow-covered lean-to, the great rock,\nthe little half-frozen stream. Everything was just as it had been a few hours ago.\n\nThey were gone. All the bodies were gone.\n\n“Gods!” he heard behind him. A sword slashed at a branch as Ser Waymar Royce gained\nthe ridge. He stood there beside the sentinel, longsword in hand, his cloak billowing\nbehind him as the wind came up, outlined nobly against the stars for all to see.\n\n“Get down!” Will whispered urgently. “Something’s wrong.”\n\nRoyce did not move. He looked down at the empty clearing and laughed. “Your dead\nmen seem to have moved camp, Will.”\n\nWill’s voice abandoned him. He groped for words that did not come. It was not possible.\nHis eyes swept back and forth over the abandoned campsite, stopped on the axe. A huge\ndouble-bladed battle-axe, still lying where he had seen it last, untouched. A valuable\nweapon . . .\n\n“On your feet, Will,” Ser Waymar commanded. “There’s no one here. I won’t have you\nhiding under a bush.”\n\nReluctantly, Will obeyed.\n\nSer Waymar looked him over with open disapproval. “I am not going back to Castle\nBlack a failure on my first ranging. We will find these men.” He glanced around. “Up the\ntree. Be quick about it. Look for a fire.”\n\nWill turned away, wordless. There was no use to argue. The wind was moving. It cut\nright through him. He went to the tree, a vaulting grey-green sentinel, and began to\nclimb. Soon his hands were sticky with sap, and he was lost among the needles. Fear\nfilled his gut like a meal he could not digest. He whispered a prayer to the nameless gods\nof the wood, and slipped his dirk free of its sheath. He put it between his teeth to keep\nboth hands free for climbing. The taste of cold iron in his mouth gave him comfort.\n\nDown below, the lordling called out suddenly, “Who goes there?” Will heard uncertainty\nin the challenge. He stopped climbing; he listened; he watched.\n"
## [13] "The woods gave answer: the rustle of leaves, the icy rush of the stream, a distant hoot of\na snow owl.\n\nThe Others made no sound.\n\nWill saw movement from the corner of his eye. Pale shapes gliding through the wood. He\nturned his head, glimpsed a white shadow in the darkness. Then it was gone. Branches\nstirred gently in the wind, scratching at one another with wooden fingers. Will opened\nhis mouth to call down a warning, and the words seemed to freeze in his throat. Perhaps\nhe was wrong. Perhaps it had only been a bird, a reflection on the snow, some trick of\nthe moonlight. What had he seen, after all?\n\n“Will, where are you?” Ser Waymar called up. “Can you see anything?” He was turning in\na slow circle, suddenly wary, his sword in hand. He must have felt them, as Will felt\nthem. There was nothing to see. “Answer me! Why is it so cold?”\n\nIt was cold. Shivering, Will clung more tightly to his perch. His face pressed hard\nagainst the trunk of the sentinel. He could feel the sweet, sticky sap on his cheek.\n\nA shadow emerged from the dark of the wood. It stood in front of Royce. Tall, it was, and\ngaunt and hard as old bones, with flesh pale as milk. Its armor seemed to change color as\nit moved; here it was white as new-fallen snow, there black as shadow, everywhere\ndappled with the deep grey-green of the trees. The patterns ran like moonlight on water\nwith every step it took.\n\nWill heard the breath go out of Ser Waymar Royce in a long hiss. “Come no farther,” the\nlordling warned. His voice cracked like a boy’s. He threw the long sable cloak back over\nhis shoulders, to free his arms for battle, and took his sword in both hands. The wind\nhad stopped. It was very cold.\n\nThe Other slid forward on silent feet. In its hand was a longsword like none that Will had\never seen. No human metal had gone into the forging of that blade. It was alive with\nmoonlight, translucent, a shard of crystal so thin that it seemed almost to vanish when\nseen edge-on. There was a faint blue shimmer to the thing, a ghost-light that played\naround its edges, and somehow Will knew it was sharper than any razor.\n\nSer Waymar met him bravely. “Dance with me then.” He lifted his sword high over his\nhead, defiant. His hands trembled from the weight of it, or perhaps from the cold. Yet in\nthat moment, Will thought, he was a boy no longer, but a man of the Night’s Watch.\n\nThe Other halted. Will saw its eyes; blue, deeper and bluer than any human eyes, a blue\nthat burned like ice. They fixed on the longsword trembling on high, watched the\n"
## [14] "moonlight running cold along the metal. For a heartbeat he dared to hope.\n\nThey emerged silently from the shadows, twins to the first. Three of\nthem . . . four . . . five . . . Ser Waymar may have felt the cold that came with them, but he\nnever saw them, never heard them. Will had to call out. It was his duty. And his death, if\nhe did. He shivered, and hugged the tree, and kept the silence.\n\nThe pale sword came shivering through the air.\n\nSer Waymar met it with steel. When the blades met, there was no ring of metal on metal;\nonly a high, thin sound at the edge of hearing, like an animal screaming in pain. Royce\nchecked a second blow, and a third, then fell back a step. Another flurry of blows, and he\nfell back again.\n\nBehind him, to right, to left, all around him, the watchers stood patient, faceless, silent,\nthe shifting patterns of their delicate armor making them all but invisible in the wood.\nYet they made no move to interfere.\n\nAgain and again the swords met, until Will wanted to cover his ears against the strange\nanguished keening of their clash. Ser Waymar was panting from the effort now, his\nbreath steaming in the moonlight. His blade was white with frost; the Other’s danced\nwith pale blue light.\n\nThen Royce’s parry came a beat too late. The pale sword bit through the ringmail\nbeneath his arm. The young lord cried out in pain. Blood welled between the rings. It\nsteamed in the cold, and the droplets seemed red as fire where they touched the snow.\nSer Waymar’s fingers brushed his side. His moleskin glove came away soaked with red.\n\nThe Other said something in a language that Will did not know; his voice was like the\ncracking of ice on a winter lake, and the words were mocking.\n\nSer Waymar Royce found his fury. “For Robert!” he shouted, and he came up snarling,\nlifting the frost-covered longsword with both hands and swinging it around in a flat\nsidearm slash with all his weight behind it. The Other’s parry was almost lazy.\n\nWhen the blades touched, the steel shattered.\n\nA scream echoed through the forest night, and the longsword shivered into a hundred\nbrittle pieces, the shards scattering like a rain of needles. Royce went to his knees,\nshrieking, and covered his eyes. Blood welled between his fingers.\n\nThe watchers moved forward together, as if some signal had been given. Swords rose\n"
## [15] "and fell, all in a deathly silence. It was cold butchery. The pale blades sliced through\nringmail as if it were silk. Will closed his eyes. Far beneath him, he heard their voices\nand laughter sharp as icicles.\n\nWhen he found the courage to look again, a long time had passed, and the ridge below\nwas empty.\n\nHe stayed in the tree, scarce daring to breathe, while the moon crept slowly across the\nblack sky. Finally, his muscles cramping and his fingers numb with cold, he climbed\ndown.\n\nRoyce’s body lay facedown in the snow, one arm outflung. The thick sable cloak had\nbeen slashed in a dozen places. Lying dead like that, you saw how young he was. A boy.\n\nHe found what was left of the sword a few feet away, the end splintered and twisted like\na tree struck by lightning. Will knelt, looked around warily, and snatched it up. The\nbroken sword would be his proof. Gared would know what to make of it, and if not him,\nthen surely that old bear Mormont or Maester Aemon. Would Gared still be waiting with\nthe horses? He had to hurry.\n\nWill rose. Ser Waymar Royce stood over him.\n\nHis fine clothes were a tatter, his face a ruin. A shard from his sword transfixed the blind\nwhite pupil of his left eye.\n\nThe right eye was open. The pupil burned blue. It saw.\n\nThe broken sword fell from nerveless fingers. Will closed his eyes to pray. Long, elegant\nhands brushed his cheek, then tightened around his throat. They were gloved in the\nfinest moleskin and sticky with blood, yet the touch was icy cold.\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [16] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n BRAN\nThe morning had dawned clear and cold, with a crispness that hinted at the end of\nsummer. They set forth at daybreak to see a man beheaded, twenty in all, and Bran rode\namong them, nervous with excitement. This was the first time he had been deemed old\nenough to go with his lord father and his brothers to see the king’s justice done. It was\nthe ninth year of summer, and the seventh of Bran’s life.\n\nThe man had been taken outside a small holdfast in the hills. Robb thought he was a\nwildling, his sword sworn to Mance Rayder, the King-beyond-the-Wall. It made Bran’s\nskin prickle to think of it. He remembered the hearth tales Old Nan told them. The\nwildlings were cruel men, she said, slavers and slayers and thieves. They consorted with\ngiants and ghouls, stole girl children in the dead of night, and drank blood from polished\nhorns. And their women lay with the Others in the Long Night to sire terrible half-\nhuman children.\n\nBut the man they found bound hand and foot to the holdfast wall awaiting the king’s\njustice was old and scrawny, not much taller than Robb. He had lost both ears and a\nfinger to frostbite, and he dressed all in black, the same as a brother of the Night’s\nWatch, except that his furs were ragged and greasy.\n\nThe breath of man and horse mingled, steaming, in the cold morning air as his lord\nfather had the man cut down from the wall and dragged before them. Robb and Jon sat\ntall and still on their horses, with Bran between them on his pony, trying to seem older\nthan seven, trying to pretend that he’d seen all this before. A faint wind blew through the\nholdfast gate. Over their heads flapped the banner of the Starks of Winterfell: a grey\ndirewolf racing across an ice-white field.\n\nBran’s father sat solemnly on his horse, long brown hair stirring in the wind. His closely\ntrimmed beard was shot with white, making him look older than his thirty-five years. He\nhad a grim cast to his grey eyes this day, and he seemed not at all the man who would sit\nbefore the fire in the evening and talk softly of the age of heroes and the children of the\nforest. He had taken off Father’s face, Bran thought, and donned the face of Lord Stark\nof Winterfell.\n\nThere were questions asked and answers given there in the chill of morning, but\nafterward Bran could not recall much of what had been said. Finally his lord father gave\n"
## [17] "a command, and two of his guardsmen dragged the ragged man to the ironwood stump\nin the center of the square. They forced his head down onto the hard black wood. Lord\nEddard Stark dismounted and his ward Theon Greyjoy brought forth the sword. “Ice,”\nthat sword was called. It was as wide across as a man’s hand, and taller even than Robb.\nThe blade was Valyrian steel, spell-forged and dark as smoke. Nothing held an edge like\nValyrian steel.\n\nHis father peeled off his gloves and handed them to Jory Cassel, the captain of his\nhousehold guard. He took hold of Ice with both hands and said, “In the name of Robert\nof the House Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and\nthe First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, by the word of\nEddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, I do sentence\nyou to die.” He lifted the greatsword high above his head.\n\nBran’s bastard brother Jon Snow moved closer. “Keep the pony well in hand,” he\nwhispered. “And don’t look away. Father will know if you do.”\n\nBran kept his pony well in hand, and did not look away.\n\nHis father took off the man’s head with a single sure stroke. Blood sprayed out across the\nsnow, as red as surnmerwine. One of the horses reared and had to be restrained to keep\nfrom bolting. Bran could not take his eyes off the blood. The snows around the stump\ndrank it eagerly, reddening as he watched.\n\nThe head bounced off a thick root and rolled. It came up near Greyjoy’s feet. Theon was\na lean, dark youth of nineteen who found everything amusing. He laughed, put his boot\non the head, and kicked it away.\n\n“Ass,” Jon muttered, low enough so Greyjoy did not hear. He put a hand on Bran’s\nshoulder, and Bran looked over at his bastard brother. “You did well,” Jon told him\nsolemnly. Jon was fourteen, an old hand at justice.\n\nIt seemed colder on the long ride back to Winterfell, though the wind had died by then\nand the sun was higher in the sky. Bran rode with his brothers, well ahead of the main\nparty, his pony struggling hard to keep up with their horses.\n\n“The deserter died bravely,” Robb said. He was big and broad and growing every day,\nwith his mother’s coloring, the fair skin, red-brown hair, and blue eyes of the Tullys of\nRiverrun. “He had courage, at the least.”\n\n“No,” Jon Snow said quietly. “It was not courage. This one was dead of fear. You could\nsee it in his eyes, Stark.” Jon’s eyes were a grey so dark they seemed almost black, but\n"
## [18] "there was little they did not see. He was of an age with Robb, but they did not look alike.\nJon was slender where Robb was muscular, dark where Robb was fair, graceful and\nquick where his half brother was strong and fast.\n\nRobb was not impressed. “The Others take his eyes,” he swore. “He died well. Race you\nto the bridge?”\n\n“Done,” Jon said, kicking his horse forward. Robb cursed and followed, and they\ngalloped off down the trail, Robb laughing and hooting, Jon silent and intent. The\nhooves of their horses kicked up showers of snow as they went.\n\nBran did not try to follow. His pony could not keep up. He had seen the ragged man’s\neyes, and he was thinking of them now. After a while, the sound of Robb’s laughter\nreceded, and the woods grew silent again.\n\nSo deep in thought was he that he never heard the rest of the party until his father\nmoved up to ride beside him. “Are you well, Bran?” he asked, not unkindly.\n\n“Yes, Father,” Bran told him. He looked up. Wrapped in his furs and leathers, mounted\non his great warhorse, his lord father loomed over him like a giant. “Robb says the man\ndied bravely, but Jon says he was afraid.”\n\n“What do you think?” his father asked.\n\nBran thought about it. “Can a man still be brave if he’s afraid?”\n\n“That is the only time a man can be brave,” his father told him. “Do you understand why\nI did it?”\n\n“He was a wildling,” Bran said. “They carry off women and sell them to the Others.”\n\nHis lord father smiled. “Old Nan has been telling you stories again. In truth, the man\nwas an oathbreaker, a deserter from the Night’s Watch. No man is more dangerous. The\ndeserter knows his life is forfeit if he is taken, so he will not flinch from any crime, no\nmatter how vile. But you mistake me. The question was not why the man had to die, but\nwhy I must do it.”\n\nBran had no answer for that. “King Robert has a headsman,” he said, uncertainly.\n\n“He does,” his father admitted. “As did the Targaryen kings before him. Yet our way is\nthe older way. The blood of the First Men still flows in the veins of the Starks, and we\nhold to the belief that the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. If you\n"
## [19] "would take a man’s life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words.\nAnd if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die.\n\n“One day, Bran, you will be Robb’s bannerman, holding a keep of your own for your\nbrother and your king, and justice will fall to you. When that day comes, you must take\nno pleasure in the task, but neither must you look away. A ruler who hides behind paid\nexecutioners soon forgets what death is.”\n\nThat was when Jon reappeared on the crest of the hill before them. He waved and\nshouted down at them. “Father, Bran, come quickly, see what Robb has found!” Then\nhe was gone again.\n\nJory rode up beside them. “Trouble, my lord?”\n\n“Beyond a doubt,” his lord father said. “Come, let us see what mischief my sons have\nrooted out now.” He sent his horse into a trot. Jory and Bran and the rest came after.\n\nThey found Robb on the riverbank north of the bridge, with Jon still mounted beside\nhim. The late summer snows had been heavy this moonturn. Robb stood knee-deep in\nwhite, his hood pulled back so the sun shone in his hair. He was cradling something in\nhis arm, while the boys talked in hushed, excited voices.\n\nThe riders picked their way carefully through the drifts, groping for solid footing on the\nhidden, uneven ground. Jory Cassel and Theon Greyjoy were the first to reach the boys.\nGreyjoy was laughing and joking as he rode. Bran heard the breath go out of him.\n“Gods!” he exclaimed, struggling to keep control of his horse as he reached for his sword.\n\nJory’s sword was already out. “Robb, get away from it!” he called as his horse reared\nunder him.\n\nRobb grinned and looked up from the bundle in his arms. “She can’t hurt you,” he said.\n“She’s dead, Jory.”\n\nBran was afire with curiosity by then. He would have spurred the pony faster, but his\nfather made them dismount beside the bridge and approach on foot. Bran jumped off\nand ran.\n\nBy then Jon, Jory, and Theon Greyjoy had all dismounted as well. “What in the seven\nhells is it?” Greyjoy was saying.\n\n“A wolf,” Robb told him.\n"
## [20] "“A freak,” Greyjoy said. “Look at the size of it.”\n\nBran’s heart was thumping in his chest as he pushed through a waist-high drift to his\nbrothers’ side.\n\nHalf-buried in bloodstained snow, a huge dark shape slumped in death. Ice had formed\nin its shaggy grey fur, and the faint smell of corruption clung to it like a woman’s\nperfume. Bran glimpsed blind eyes crawling with maggots, a wide mouth full of yellowed\nteeth. But it was the size of it that made him gasp. It was bigger than his pony, twice the\nsize of the largest hound in his father’s kennel.\n\n“It’s no freak,” Jon said calmly. “That’s a direwolf. They grow larger than the other kind.”\n\nTheon Greyjoy said, “There’s not been a direwolf sighted south of the Wall in two\nhundred years.”\n\n“I see one now,” Jon replied.\n\nBran tore his eyes away from the monster. That was when he noticed the bundle in\nRobb’s arms. He gave a cry of delight and moved closer. The pup was a tiny ball of grey-\nblack fur, its eyes still closed. It nuzzled blindly against Robb’s chest as he cradled it,\nsearching for milk among his leathers, making a sad little whimpery sound. Bran\nreached out hesitantly. “Go on,” Robb told him. “You can touch him.”\n\nBran gave the pup a quick nervous stroke, then turned as Jon said, “Here you go.” His\nhalf brother put a second pup into his arms. “There are five of them.” Bran sat down in\nthe snow and hugged the wolf pup to his face. Its fur was soft and warm against his\ncheek.\n\n“Direwolves loose in the realm, after so many years,” muttered Hullen, the master of\nhorse. “I like it not.”\n\n“It is a sign,” Jory said.\n\nFather frowned. “This is only a dead animal, Jory,” he said. Yet he seemed troubled.\nSnow crunched under his boots as he moved around the body. “Do we know what killed\nher?”\n\n“There’s something in the throat,” Robb told him, proud to have found the answer before\nhis father even asked. “There, just under the jaw.”\n"
## [21] "His father knelt and groped under the beast’s head with his hand. He gave a yank and\nheld it up for all to see. A foot of shattered antler, tines snapped off, all wet with blood.\n\nA sudden silence descended over the party. The men looked at the antler uneasily, and\nno one dared to speak. Even Bran could sense their fear, though he did not understand.\n\nHis father tossed the antler to the side and cleansed his hands in the snow. “I’m\nsurprised she lived long enough to whelp,” he said. His voice broke the spell.\n\n“Maybe she didn’t,” Jory said. “I’ve heard tales . . . maybe the bitch was already dead\nwhen the pups came.”\n\n“Born with the dead,” another man put in. “Worse luck.”\n\n“No matter,” said Hullen. “They be dead soon enough too.”\n\nBran gave a wordless cry of dismay.\n\n“The sooner the better,” Theon Greyjoy agreed. He drew his sword. “Give the beast here,\nBran.”\n\nThe little thing squirmed against him, as if it heard and understood. “No!” Bran cried\nout fiercely. “It’s mine.”\n\n“Put away your sword, Greyjoy,” Robb said. For a moment he sounded as commanding\nas their father, like the lord he would someday be. “We will keep these pups.”\n\n“You cannot do that, boy,” said Harwin, who was Hullen’s son.\n\n“It be a mercy to kill them,” Hullen said.\n\nBran looked to his lord father for rescue, but got only a frown, a furrowed brow. “Hullen\nspeaks truly, son. Better a swift death than a hard one from cold and starvation.”\n\n“No!” He could feel tears welling in his eyes, and he looked away. He did not want to cry\nin front of his father.\n\nRobb resisted stubbornly. “Ser Rodrik’s red bitch whelped again last week,” he said. “It\nwas a small litter, only two live pups. She’ll have milk enough.”\n\n“She’ll rip them apart when they try to nurse.”\n"
## [22] "“Lord Stark,” Jon said. It was strange to hear him call Father that, so formal. Bran\nlooked at him with desperate hope. “There are five pups,” he told Father. “Three male,\ntwo female.”\n\n“What of it, Jon?”\n\n“You have five trueborn children,” Jon said. “Three sons, two daughters. The direwolf is\nthe sigil of your House. Your children were meant to have these pups, my lord.”\n\nBran saw his father’s face change, saw the other men exchange glances. He loved Jon\nwith all his heart at that moment. Even at seven, Bran understood what his brother had\ndone. The count had come right only because Jon had omitted himself. He had included\nthe girls, included even Rickon, the baby, but not the bastard who bore the surname\nSnow, the name that custom decreed be given to all those in the north unlucky enough to\nbe born with no name of their own.\n\nTheir father understood as well. “You want no pup for yourself, Jon?” he asked softly.\n\n“The direwolf graces the banners of House Stark,” Jon pointed out. “I am no Stark,\nFather.”\n\nTheir lord father regarded Jon thoughtfully. Robb rushed into the silence he left. “I will\nnurse him myself, Father,” he promised. “I will soak a towel with warm milk, and give\nhim suck from that.”\n\n“Me too!” Bran echoed.\n\nThe lord weighed his sons long and carefully with his eyes. “Easy to say, and harder to\ndo. I will not have you wasting the servants’ time with this. If you want these pups, you\nwill feed them yourselves. Is that understood?”\n\nBran nodded eagerly. The pup squirmed in his grasp, licked at his face with a warm\ntongue.\n\n“You must train them as well,” their father said. “You must train them. The\nkennelmaster will have nothing to do with these monsters, I promise you that. And the\ngods help you if you neglect them, or brutalize them, or train them badly. These are not\ndogs to beg for treats and slink off at a kick. A direwolf will rip a man’s arm off his\nshoulder as easily as a dog will kill a rat. Are you sure you want this?”\n\n“Yes, Father,” Bran said.\n"
## [23] "“Yes,” Robb agreed.\n\n“The pups may die anyway, despite all you do.”\n\n“They won’t die,” Robb said. “We won’t let them die.”\n\n“Keep them, then. Jory, Desmond, gather up the other pups. It’s time we were back to\nWinterfell.”\n\nIt was not until they were mounted and on their way that Bran allowed himself to taste\nthe sweet air of victory. By then, his pup was snuggled inside his leathers, warm against\nhim, safe for the long ride home. Bran was wondering what to name him.\n\nHalfway across the bridge, Jon pulled up suddenly.\n\n“What is it, Jon?” their lord father asked.\n\n“Can’t you hear it?”\n\nBran could hear the wind in the trees, the clatter of their hooves on the ironwood planks,\nthe whimpering of his hungry pup, but Jon was listening to something else.\n\n“There,” Jon said. He swung his horse around and galloped back across the bridge. They\nwatched him dismount where the direwolf lay dead in the snow, watched him kneel. A\nmoment later he was riding back to them, smiling.\n\n“He must have crawled away from the others,” Jon said.\n\n“Or been driven away,” their father said, looking at the sixth pup. His fur was white,\nwhere the rest of the litter was grey. His eyes were as red as the blood of the ragged man\nwho had died that morning. Bran thought it curious that this pup alone would have\nopened his eyes while the others were still blind.\n\n“An albino,” Theon Greyjoy said with wry amusement. “This one will die even faster than\nthe others.”\n\nJon Snow gave his father’s ward a long, chilling look. “I think not, Greyjoy,” he said.\n“This one belongs to me.”\n"
## [24] "previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [25] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n CATELYN\nCatelyn had never liked this godswood.\n\nShe had been born a Tully, at Riverrun far to the south, on the Red Fork of the Trident.\nThe godswood there was a garden, bright and airy, where tall redwoods spread dappled\nshadows across tinkling streams, birds sang from hidden nests, and the air was spicy\nwith the scent of flowers.\n\nThe gods of Winterfell kept a different sort of wood. It was a dark, primal place, three\nacres of old forest untouched for ten thousand years as the gloomy castle rose around it.\nIt smelled of moist earth and decay. No redwoods grew here. This was a wood of\nstubborn sentinel trees armored in grey-green needles, of mighty oaks, of ironwoods as\nold as the realm itself. Here thick black trunks crowded close together while twisted\nbranches wove a dense canopy overhead and misshappen roots wrestled beneath the\nsoil. This was a place of deep silence and brooding shadows, and the gods who lived here\nhad no names.\n\nBut she knew she would find her husband here tonight. Whenever he took a man’s life,\nafterward he would seek the quiet of the godswood.\n\nCatelyn had been anointed with the seven oils and named in the rainbow of light that\nfilled the sept of Riverrun. She was of the Faith, like her father and grandfather and his\nfather before him. Her gods had names, and their faces were as familiar as the faces of\nher parents. Worship was a septon with a censer, the smell of incense, a seven-sided\ncrystal alive with light, voices raised in song. The Tullys kept a godswood, as all the great\nhouses did, but it was only a place to walk or read or lie in the sun. Worship was for the\nsept.\n\nFor her sake, Ned had built a small sept where she might sing to the seven faces of god,\nbut the blood of the First Men still flowed in the veins of the Starks, and his own gods\nwere the old ones, the nameless, faceless gods of the greenwood they shared with the\nvanished children of the forest.\n\nAt the center of the grove an ancient weirwood brooded over a small pool where the\nwaters were black and cold. “The heart tree,” Ned called it. The weirwood’s bark was\nwhite as bone, its leaves dark red, like a thousand bloodstained hands. A face had been\n"
## [26] "carved in the trunk of the great tree, its features long and melancholy, the deep-cut eyes\nred with dried sap and strangely watchful. They were old, those eyes; older than\nWinterfell itself. They had seen Brandon the Builder set the first stone, if the tales were\ntrue; they had watched the castle’s granite walls rise around them. It was said that the\nchildren of the forest had carved the faces in the trees during the dawn centuries before\nthe coming of the First Men across the narrow sea.\n\nIn the south the last weirwoods had been cut down or burned out a thousand years ago,\nexcept on the Isle of Faces where the green men kept their silent watch. Up here it was\ndifferent. Here every castle had its godswood, and every godswood had its heart tree,\nand every heart tree its face.\n\nCatelyn found her husband beneath the weirwood, seated on a moss-covered stone. The\ngreatsword Ice was across his lap, and he was cleaning the blade in those waters black as\nnight. A thousand years of humus lay thick upon the godswood floor, swallowing the\nsound of her feet, but the red eyes of the weirwood seemed to follow her as she came.\n“Ned,” she called softly.\n\nHe lifted his head to look at her. “Catelyn,” he said. His voice was distant and formal.\n“Where are the children?”\n\nHe would always ask her that. “In the kitchen, arguing about names for the wolf pups.”\nShe spread her cloak on the forest floor and sat beside the pool, her back to the\nweirwood. She could feel the eyes watching her, but she did her best to ignore them.\n“Arya is already in love, and Sansa is charmed and gracious, but Rickon is not quite\nsure.”\n\n“Is he afraid?” Ned asked.\n\n“A little,” she admitted. “He is only three.”\n\nNed frowned. “He must learn to face his fears. He will not be three forever. And winter is\ncoming.”\n\n“Yes,” Catelyn agreed. The words gave her a chill, as they always did. The Stark words.\nEvery noble house had its words. Family mottoes, touchstones, prayers of sorts, they\nboasted of honor and glory, promised loyalty and truth, swore faith and courage. All but\nthe Starks. Winter is coming, said the Stark words. Not for the first time, she reflected\non what a strange people these northerners were.\n\n“The man died well, I’ll give him that,” Ned said. He had a swatch of oiled leather in one\nhand. He ran it lightly up the greatsword as he spoke, polishing the metal to a dark glow.\n"
## [27] "“I was glad for Bran’s sake. You would have been proud of Bran.”\n\n“I am always proud of Bran,” Catelyn replied, watching the sword as he stroked it. She\ncould see the rippling deep within the steel, where the metal had been folded back on\nitself a hundred times in the forging. Catelyn had no love for swords, but she could not\ndeny that Ice had its own beauty. It had been forged in Valyria, before the Doom had\ncome to the old Freehold, when the ironsmiths had worked their metal with spells as\nwell as hammers. Four hundred years old it was, and as sharp as the day it was forged.\nThe name it bore was older still, a legacy from the age of heroes, when the Starks were\nKings in the North.\n\n“He was the fourth this year,” Ned said grimly. “The poor man was half-mad. Something\nhad put a fear in him so deep that my words could not reach him.” He sighed. “Ben\nwrites that the strength of the Night’s Watch is down below a thousand. It’s not only\ndesertions. They are losing men on rangings as well.”\n\n“Is it the wildlings?” she asked.\n\n“Who else?” Ned lifted Ice, looked down the cool steel length of it. “And it will only grow\nworse. The day may come when I will have no choice but to call the banners and ride\nnorth to deal with this King-beyond-the-Wall for good and all.”\n\n“Beyond the Wall?” The thought made Catelyn shudder.\n\nNed saw the dread on her face. “Mance Rayder is nothing for us to fear.”\n\n“There are darker things beyond the Wall.” She glanced behind her at the heart tree, the\npale bark and red eyes, watching, listening, thinking its long slow thoughts.\n\nHis smile was gentle. “You listen to too many of Old Nan’s stories. The Others are as\ndead as the children of the forest, gone eight thousand years. Maester Luwin will tell you\nthey never lived at all. No living man has ever seen one.”\n\n“Until this morning, no living man had ever seen a direwolf either,” Catelyn reminded\nhim.\n\n“I ought to know better than to argue with a Tully,” he said with a rueful smile. He slid\nIce back into its sheath. “You did not come here to tell me crib tales. I know how little\nyou like this place. What is it, my lady?”\n\nCatelyn took her husband’s hand. “There was grievous news today, my lord. I did not\nwish to trouble you until you had cleansed yourself.” There was no way to soften the\n"
## [28] "blow, so she told him straight. “I am so sorry, my love. Jon Arryn is dead.”\n\nHis eyes found hers, and she could see how hard it took him, as she had known it would.\nIn his youth, Ned had fostered at the Eyrie, and the childless Lord Arryn had become a\nsecond father to him and his fellow ward, Robert Baratheon. When the Mad King Aerys\nII Targaryen had demanded their heads, the Lord of the Eyrie had raised his moon-and-\nfalcon banners in revolt rather than give up those he had pledged to protect.\n\nAnd one day fifteen years ago, this second father had become a brother as well, as he and\nNed stood together in the sept at Riverrun to wed two sisters, the daughters of Lord\nHoster Tully.\n\n“Jon . . . ” he said. “Is this news certain?”\n\n“It was the king’s seal, and the letter is in Robert’s own hand. I saved it for you. He said\nLord Arryn was taken quickly. Even Maester Pycelle was helpless, but he brought the\nmilk of the poppy, so Jon did not linger long in pain.”\n\n“That is some small mercy, I suppose,” he said. She could see the grief on his face, but\neven then he thought first of her. “Your sister,” he said. “And Jon’s boy. What word of\nthem?”\n\n“The message said only that they were well, and had returned to the Eyrie,” Catelyn said.\n“I wish they had gone to Riverrun instead. The Eyrie is high and lonely, and it was ever\nher husband’s place, not hers. Lord Jon’s memory will haunt each stone. I know my\nsister. She needs the comfort of family and friends around her.”\n\n“Your uncle waits in the Vale, does he not? Jon named him Knight of the Gate, I’d\nheard.”\n\nCatelyn nodded. “Brynden will do what he can for her, and for the boy. That is some\ncomfort, but still . . . ”\n\n“Go to her,” Ned urged. “Take the children. Fill her halls with noise and shouts and\nlaughter. That boy of hers needs other children about him, and Lysa should not be alone\nin her grief.”\n\n“Would that I could,” Catelyn said. “The letter had other tidings. The king is riding to\nWinterfell to seek you out.”\n\nIt took Ned a moment to comprehend her words, but when the understanding came, the\ndarkness left his eyes. “Robert is coming here?” When she nodded, a smile broke across\n"
## [29] "his face.\n\nCatelyn wished she could share his joy. But she had heard the talk in the yards; a\ndirewolf dead in the snow, a broken antler in its throat. Dread coiled within her like a\nsnake, but she forced herself to smile at this man she loved, this man who put no faith in\nsigns. “I knew that would please you,” she said. “We should send word to your brother\non the Wall.”\n\n“Yes, of course,” he agreed. “Ben will want to be here. I shall tell Maester Luwin to send\nhis swiftest bird.” Ned rose and pulled her to her feet. “Damnation, how many years has\nit been? And he gives us no more notice than this? How many in his party, did the\nmessage say?”\n\n“I should think a hundred knights, at the least, with all their retainers, and half again as\nmany freeriders. Cersei and the children travel with them.”\n\n“Robert will keep an easy pace for their sakes,” he said. “It is just as well. That will give\nus more time to prepare.”\n\n“The queen’s brothers are also in the party,” she told him.\n\nNed grimaced at that. There was small love between him and the queen’s family, Catelyn\nknew. The Lannisters of Casterly Rock had come late to Robert’s cause, when victory was\nall but certain, and he had never forgiven them. “Well, if the price for Robert’s company\nis an infestation of Lannisters, so be it. It sounds as though Robert is bringing half his\ncourt.”\n\n“Where the king goes, the realm follows,” she said.\n\n“It will be good to see the children. The youngest was still sucking at the Lannister\nwoman’s teat the last time I saw him. He must be, what, five by now?”\n\n“Prince Tommen is seven,” she told him. “The same age as Bran. Please, Ned, guard your\ntongue. The Lannister woman is our queen, and her pride is said to grow with every\npassing year.”\n\nNed squeezed her hand. “There must be a feast, of course, with singers, and Robert will\nwant to hunt. I shall send Jory south with an honor guard to meet them on the kingsroad\nand escort them back. Gods, how are we going to feed them all? On his way already, you\nsaid? Damn the man. Damn his royal hide.”\n"
## [30] "previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [31] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n DAENERYS\nHer brother held the gown up for her inspection. “This is beauty. Touch it. Go on. Caress\nthe fabric.”\n\nDany touched it. The cloth was so smooth that it seemed to run through her fingers like\nwater. She could not remember ever wearing anything so soft. It frightened her. She\npulled her hand away. “Is it really mine?”\n\n“A gift from the Magister Illyrio,” Viserys said, smiling. Her brother was in a high mood\ntonight. “The color will bring out the violet in your eyes. And you shall have gold as well,\nand jewels of all sorts. Illyrio has promised. Tonight you must look like a princess.”\n\nA princess, Dany thought. She had forgotten what that was like. Perhaps she had never\nreally known. “Why does he give us so much?” she asked. “What does he want from us?”\nFor nigh on half a year, they had lived in the magister’s house, eating his food, pampered\nby his servants. Dany was thirteen, old enough to know that such gifts seldom come\nwithout their price, here in the free city of Pentos.\n\n“Illyrio is no fool,” Viserys said. He was a gaunt young man with nervous hands and a\nfeverish look in his pale lilac eyes. “The magister knows that I will not forget my friends\nwhen I come into my throne.”\n\nDany said nothing. Magister Illyrio was a dealer in spices, gemstones, dragonbone, and\nother, less savory things. He had friends in all of the Nine Free Cities, it was said, and\neven beyond, in Vaes Dothrak and the fabled lands beside the Jade Sea. It was also said\nthat he’d never had a friend he wouldn’t cheerfully sell for the right price. Dany listened\nto the talk in the streets, and she heard these things, but she knew better than to\nquestion her brother when he wove his webs of dream. His anger was a terrible thing\nwhen roused. Viserys called it “waking the dragon.”\n\nHer brother hung the gown beside the door. “Illyrio will send the slaves to bathe you. Be\nsure you wash off the stink of the stables. Khal Drogo has a thousand horses, tonight he\nlooks for a different sort of mount.” He studied her critically. “You still slouch.\nStraighten yourself” He pushed back her shoulders with his hands. “Let them see that\nyou have a woman’s shape now.” His fingers brushed lightly over her budding breasts\nand tightened on a nipple. “You will not fail me tonight. If you do, it will go hard for you.\n"
## [32] "You don’t want to wake the dragon, do you?” His fingers twisted her, the pinch cruelly\nhard through the rough fabric of her tunic. “Do you?” he repeated.\n\n“No,” Dany said meekly.\n\nHer brother smiled. “Good.” He touched her hair, almost with affection. “When they\nwrite the history of my reign, sweet sister, they will say that it began tonight.”\n\nWhen he was gone, Dany went to her window and looked out wistfully on the waters of\nthe bay. The square brick towers of Pentos were black silhouettes outlined against the\nsetting sun. Dany could hear the singing of the red priests as they lit their night fires and\nthe shouts of ragged children playing games beyond the walls of the estate. For a\nmoment she wished she could be out there with them, barefoot and breathless and\ndressed in tatters, with no past and no future and no feast to attend at Khal Drogo’s\nmanse.\n\nSomewhere beyond the sunset, across the narrow sea, lay a land of green hills and\nflowered plains and great rushing rivers, where towers of dark stone rose amidst\nmagnificent blue-grey mountains, and armored knights rode to battle beneath the\nbanners of their lords. The Dothraki called that land Rhaesh Andahli, the land of the\nAndals. In the Free Cities, they talked of Westeros and the Sunset Kingdoms. Her\nbrother had a simpler name. “Our land,” he called it. The words were like a prayer with\nhim. If he said them enough, the gods were sure to hear. “Ours by blood right, taken\nfrom us by treachery, but ours still, ours forever. You do not steal from the dragon, oh,\nno. The dragon remembers.”\n\nAnd perhaps the dragon did remember, but Dany could not. She had never seen this\nland her brother said was theirs, this realm beyond the narrow sea. These places he\ntalked of, Casterly Rock and the Eyrie, Highgarden and the Vale of Arryn, Dorne and the\nIsle of Faces, they were just words to her. Viserys had been a boy of eight when they fled\nKing’s Landing to escape the advancing armies of the Usurper, but Daenerys had been\nonly a quickening in their mother’s womb.\n\nYet sometimes Dany would picture the way it had been, so often had her brother told her\nthe stories. The midnight flight to Dragonstone, moonlight shimmering on the ship’s\nblack sails. Her brother Rhaegar battling the Usurper in the bloody waters of the Trident\nand dying for the woman he loved. The sack of King’s Landing by the ones Viserys called\nthe Usurper’s dogs, the lords Lannister and Stark. Princess Elia of Dorne pleading for\nmercy as Rhaegar’s heir was ripped from her breast and murdered before her eyes. The\npolished skulls of the last dragons staring down sightlessly from the walls of the throne\nroom while the Kingslayer opened Father’s throat with a golden sword.\n"
## [33] "She had been born on Dragonstone nine moons after their flight, while a raging summer\nstorm threatened to rip the island fastness apart. They said that storm was terrible. The\nTargaryen fleet was smashed while it lay at anchor, and huge stone blocks were ripped\nfrom the parapets and sent hurtling into the wild waters of the narrow sea. Her mother\nhad died birthing her, and for that her brother Viserys had never forgiven her.\n\nShe did not remember Dragonstone either. They had run again, just before the Usurper’s\nbrother set sail with his new-built fleet. By then only Dragonstone itself, the ancient seat\nof their House, had remained of the Seven Kingdoms that had once been theirs. It would\nnot remain for long. The garrison had been prepared to sell them to the Usurper, but one\nnight Ser Willem Darry and four loyal men had broken into the nursery and stolen them\nboth, along with her wet nurse, and set sail under cover of darkness for the safety of the\nBraavosian coast.\n\nShe remembered Ser Willem dimly, a great grey bear of a man, half-blind, roaring and\nbellowing orders from his sickbed. The servants had lived in terror of him, but he had\nalways been kind to Dany. He called her “Little Princess” and sometimes “My Lady,” and\nhis hands were soft as old leather. He never left his bed, though, and the smell of\nsickness clung to him day and night, a hot, moist, sickly sweet odor. That was when they\nlived in Braavos, in the big house with the red door. Dany had her own room there, with\na lemon tree outside her window. After Ser Willem had died, the servants had stolen\nwhat little money they had left, and soon after they had been put out of the big house.\nDany had cried when the red door closed behind them forever.\n\nThey had wandered since then, from Braavos to Myr, from Myr to Tyrosh, and on to\nQohor and Volantis and Lys, never staying long in any one place. Her brother would not\nallow it. The Usurper’s hired knives were close behind them, he insisted, though Dany\nhad never seen one.\n\nAt first the magisters and archons and merchant princes were pleased to welcome the\nlast Targaryens to their homes and tables, but as the years passed and the Usurper\ncontinued to sit upon the Iron Throne, doors closed and their lives grew meaner. Years\npast they had been forced to sell their last few treasures, and now even the coin they had\ngotten from Mother’s crown had gone. In the alleys and wine sinks of Pentos, they called\nher brother “the beggar king.” Dany did not want to know what they called her.\n\n“We will have it all back someday, sweet sister,” he would promise her. Sometimes his\nhands shook when he talked about it. “The jewels and the silks, Dragonstone and King’s\nLanding, the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms, all they have taken from us, we will\nhave it back.” Viserys lived for that day. All that Daenerys wanted back was the big house\nwith the red door, the lemon tree outside her window, the childhood she had never\nknown.\n"
## [34] "There came a soft knock on her door. “Come,” Dany said, turning away from the\nwindow. Illyrio’s servants entered, bowed, and set about their business. They were\nslaves, a gift from one of the magister’s many Dothraki friends. There was no slavery in\nthe free city of Pentos. Nonetheless, they were slaves. The old woman, small and grey as\na mouse, never said a word, but the girl made up for it. She was Illyrio’s favorite, a fair-\nhaired, blue-eyed wench of sixteen who chattered constantly as she worked.\n\nThey filled her bath with hot water brought up from the kitchen and scented it with\nfragrant oils. The girl pulled the rough cotton tunic over Dany’s head and helped her into\nthe tub. The water was scalding hot, but Daenerys did not flinch or cry out. She liked the\nheat. It made her feel clean. Besides, her brother had often told her that it was never too\nhot for a Targaryen. “Ours is the house of the dragon,” he would say. “The fire is in our\nblood.”\n\nThe old woman washed her long, silver-pale hair and gently combed out the snags, all in\nsilence. The girl scrubbed her back and her feet and told her how lucky she was. “Drogo\nis so rich that even his slaves wear golden collars. A hundred thousand men ride in his\nkhalasar, and his palace in Vaes Dothrak has two hundred rooms and doors of solid\nsilver.” There was more like that, so much more, what a handsome man the khal was, so\ntall and fierce, fearless in battle, the best rider ever to mount a horse, a demon archer.\nDaenerys said nothing. She had always assumed that she would wed Viserys when she\ncame of age. For centuries the Targaryens had married brother to sister, since Aegon the\nConqueror had taken his sisters to bride. The line must be kept pure, Viserys had told\nher a thousand times; theirs was the kingsblood, the golden blood of old Valyria, the\nblood of the dragon. Dragons did not mate with the beasts of the field, and Targaryens\ndid not mingle their blood with that of lesser men. Yet now Viserys schemed to sell her\nto a stranger, a barbarian.\n\nWhen she was clean, the slaves helped her from the water and toweled her dry. The girl\nbrushed her hair until it shone like molten silver, while the old woman anointed her with\nthe spiceflower perfume of the Dothraki plains, a dab on each wrist, behind her ears, on\nthe tips of her breasts, and one last one, cool on her lips, down there between her legs.\nThey dressed her in the wisps that Magister Illyrio had sent up, and then the gown, a\ndeep plum silk to bring out the violet in her eyes. The girl slid the gilded sandals onto her\nfeet, while the old woman fixed the tiara in her hair, and slid golden bracelets crusted\nwith amethysts around her wrists. Last of all came the collar, a heavy golden torc\nemblazoned with ancient Valyrian glyphs.\n\n“Now you look all a princess,” the girl said breathlessly when they were done. Dany\nglanced at her image in the silvered looking glass that Illyrio had so thoughtfully\nprovided. A princess, she thought, but she remembered what the girl had said, how Khal\nDrogo was so rich even his slaves wore golden collars. She felt a sudden chill, and\n"
## [35] "gooseflesh pimpled her bare arms.\n\nHer brother was waiting in the cool of the entry hall, seated on the edge of the pool, his\nhand trailing in the water. He rose when she appeared and looked her over critically.\n“Stand there,” he told her. “Turn around. Yes. Good. You look . . . ”\n\n“Regal,” Magister Illyrio said, stepping through an archway. He moved with surprising\ndelicacy for such a massive man. Beneath loose garments of flame-colored silk, rolls of\nfat jiggled as he walked. Gemstones glittered on every finger, and his man had oiled his\nforked yellow beard until it shone like real gold. “May the Lord of Light shower you with\nblessings on this most fortunate day, Princess Daenerys,” the magister said as he took\nher hand. He bowed his head, showing a thin glimpse of crooked yellow teeth through\nthe gold of his beard. “She is a vision, Your Grace, a vision,” he told her brother. “Drogo\nwill be enraptured.”\n\n“She’s too skinny,” Viserys said. His hair, the same silver-blond as hers, had been pulled\nback tightly behind his head and fastened with a dragonbone brooch. It was a severe\nlook that emphasized the hard, gaunt lines of his face. He rested his hand on the hilt of\nthe sword that Illyrio had lent him, and said, “Are you sure that Khal Drogo likes his\nwomen this young?”\n\n“She has had her blood. She is old enough for the khal,” Illyrio told him, not for the first\ntime. “Look at her. That silver-gold hair, those purple eyes . . . she is the blood of old\nValyria, no doubt, no doubt . . . and highborn, daughter of the old king, sister to the new,\nshe cannot fail to entrance our Drogo.” When he released her hand, Daenerys found\nherself trembling.\n\n“I suppose,” her brother said doubtfully. “The savages have queer tastes. Boys, horses,\nsheep . . . ”\n\n“Best not suggest this to Khal Drogo,” Illyrio said.\n\nAnger flashed in her brother’s lilac eyes. “Do you take me for a fool?”\n\nThe magister bowed slightly. “I take you for a king. Kings lack the caution of common\nmen. My apologies if I have given offense.” He turned away and clapped his hands for\nhis bearers.\n\nThe streets of Pentos were pitch-dark when they set out in Illyrio’s elaborately carved\npalanquin. Two servants went ahead to light their way, carrying ornate oil lanterns with\npanes of pale blue glass, while a dozen strong men hoisted the poles to their shoulders. It\nwas warm and close inside behind the curtains. Dany could smell the stench of Illyrio’s\n"
## [36] "pallid flesh through his heavy perfumes.\n\nHer brother, sprawled out on his pillows beside her, never noticed. His mind was away\nacross the narrow sea. “We won’t need his whole khalasar,” Viserys said. His fingers\ntoyed with the hilt of his borrowed blade, though Dany knew he had never used a sword\nin earnest. “Ten thousand, that would be enough, I could sweep the Seven Kingdoms\nwith ten thousand Dothraki screamers. The realm will rise for its rightful king. Tyrell,\nRedwyne, Darry, Greyjoy, they have no more love for the Usurper than I do. The\nDornishmen burn to avenge Elia and her children. And the smallfolk will be with us.\nThey cry out for their king.” He looked at Illyrio anxiously. “They do, don’t they?”\n\n“They are your people, and they love you well,” Magister Illyrio said amiably. “In\nholdfasts all across the realm, men lift secret toasts to your health while women sew\ndragon banners and hide them against the day of your return from across the water.” He\ngave a massive shrug. “Or so my agents tell me.”\n\nDany had no agents, no way of knowing what anyone was doing or thinking across the\nnarrow sea, but she mistrusted Illyrio’s sweet words as she mistrusted everything about\nIllyrio. Her brother was nodding eagerly, however. “I shall kill the Usurper myself,” he\npromised, who had never killed anyone, “as he killed my brother Rhaegar. And\nLannister too, the Kingslayer, for what he did to my father.”\n\n“That would be most fitting,” Magister Illyrio said. Dany saw the smallest hint of a smile\nplaying around his full lips, but her brother did not notice. Nodding, he pushed back a\ncurtain and stared off into the night, and Dany knew he was fighting the Battle of the\nTrident once again.\n\nThe nine-towered manse of Khal Drogo sat beside the waters of the bay, its high brick\nwalls overgrown with pale ivy. It had been given to the khal by the magisters of Pentos,\nIllyrio told them. The Free Cities were always generous with the horselords. “It is not\nthat we fear these barbarians,” Illyrio would explain with a smile. “The Lord of Light\nwould hold our city walls against a million Dothraki, or so the red priests promise . . . yet\nwhy take chances, when their friendship comes so cheap?”\n\nTheir palanquin was stopped at the gate, the curtains pulled roughly back by one of the\nhouse guards. He had the copper skin and dark almond eyes of a Dothraki, but his face\nwas hairless and he wore the spiked bronze cap of the Unsullied. He looked them over\ncoldly. Magister Illyrio growled something to him in the rough Dothraki tongue; the\nguardsman replied in the same voice and waved them through the gates.\n\nDany noticed that her brother’s hand was clenched tightly around the hilt of his\nborrowed sword. He looked almost as frightened as she felt. “Insolent eunuch,” Viserys\n"
## [37] "muttered as the palanquin lurched up toward the manse.\n\nMagister Illyrio’s words were honey. “Many important men will be at the feast tonight.\nSuch men have enemies. The khal must protect his guests, yourself chief among them,\nYour Grace. No doubt the Usurper would pay well for your head.”\n\n“Oh, yes,” Viserys said darkly. “He has tried, Illyrio, I promise you that. His hired knives\nfollow us everywhere. I am the last dragon, and he will not sleep easy while I live.”\n\nThe palanquin slowed and stopped. The curtains were thrown back, and a slave offered a\nhand to help Daenerys out. His collar, she noted, was ordinary bronze. Her brother\nfollowed, one hand still clenched hard around his sword hilt. It took two strong men to\nget Magister Illyrio back on his feet.\n\nInside the manse, the air was heavy with the scent of spices, pinchfire and sweet lemon\nand cinnamon. They were escorted across the entry hall, where a mosaic of colored glass\ndepicted the Doom of Valyria. Oil burned in black iron lanterns all along the walls.\nBeneath an arch of twining stone leaves, a eunuch sang their coming. “Viserys of the\nHouse Targaryen, the Third of his Name,” he called in a high, sweet voice, “King of the\nAndals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector\nof the Realm. His sister, Daenerys Stormborn, Princess of Dragonstone. His honorable\nhost, Illyrio Mopatis, Magister of the Free City of Pentos.”\n\nThey stepped past the eunuch into a pillared courtyard overgrown in pale ivy. Moonlight\npainted the leaves in shades of bone and silver as the guests drifted among them. Many\nwere Dothraki horselords, big men with red-brown skin, their drooping mustachios\nbound in metal rings, their black hair oiled and braided and hung with bells. Yet among\nthem moved bravos and sellswords from Pentos and Myr and Tyrosh, a red priest even\nfatter than Illyrio, hairy men from the Port of Ibben, and lords from the Summer Isles\nwith skin as black as ebony. Daenerys looked at them all in wonder . . . and realized, with\na sudden start of fear, that she was the only woman there.\n\nIllyrio whispered to them. “Those three are Drogo’s bloodriders, there,” he said. “By the\npillar is Khal Moro, with his son Rhogoro. The man with the green beard is brother to\nthe Archon of Tyrosh, and the man behind him is Ser Jorah Mormont.”\n\nThe last name caught Daenerys. “A knight?”\n\n“No less.” Illyrio smiled through his beard. “Anointed with the seven oils by the High\nSepton himself.”\n\n“What is he doing here?” she blurted.\n"
## [38] "“The Usurper wanted his head,” Illyrio told them. “Some trifling affront. He sold some\npoachers to a Tyroshi slaver instead of giving them to the Night’s Watch. Absurd law. A\nman should be able to do as he likes with his own chattel.”\n\n“I shall wish to speak with Ser Jorah before the night is done,” her brother said. Dany\nfound herself looking at the knight curiously. He was an older man, past forty and\nbalding, but still strong and fit. Instead of silks and cottons, he wore wool and leather.\nHis tunic was a dark green, embroidered with the likeness of a black bear standing on\ntwo legs.\n\nShe was still looking at this strange man from the homeland she had never known when\nMagister Illyrio placed a moist hand on her bare shoulder. “Over there, sweet princess,”\nhe whispered, “there is the khal himself.”\n\nDany wanted to run and hide, but her brother was looking at her, and if she displeased\nhim she knew she would wake the dragon. Anxiously, she turned and looked at the man\nViserys hoped would ask to wed her before the night was done.\n\nThe slave girl had not been far wrong, she thought. Khal Drogo was a head taller than\nthe tallest man in the room, yet somehow light on his feet, as graceful as the panther in\nIllyrio’s menagerie. He was younger than she’d thought, no more than thirty. His skin\nwas the color of polished copper, his thick mustachios bound with gold and bronze rings.\n\n“I must go and make my submissions,” Magister Illyrio said. “Wait here. I shall bring\nhim to you.”\n\nHer brother took her by the arm as Illyrio waddled over to the khal, his fingers\nsqueezing so hard that they hurt. “Do you see his braid, sweet sister?”\n\nDrogo’s braid was black as midnight and heavy with scented oil, hung with tiny bells that\nrang softly as he moved. It swung well past his belt, below even his buttocks, the end of it\nbrushing against the back of his thighs.\n\n“You see how long it is?” Viserys said. “When Dothraki are defeated in combat, they cut\noff their braids in disgrace, so the world will know their shame. Khal Drogo has never\nlost a fight. He is Aegon the Dragonlord come again, and you will be his queen.”\n\nDany looked at Khal Drogo. His face was hard and cruel, his eyes as cold and dark as\nonyx. Her brother hurt her sometimes, when she woke the dragon, but he did not\nfrighten her the way this man frightened her. “I don’t want to be his queen,” she heard\nherself say in a small, thin voice. “Please, please, Viserys, I don’t want to, I want to go\n"
## [39] "home.”\n\n“Home?” He kept his voice low, but she could hear the fury in his tone. “How are we to\ngo home, sweet sister? They took our home from us!” He drew her into the shadows, out\nof sight, his fingers digging into her skin. “How are we to go home?” he repeated,\nmeaning King’s Landing, and Dragonstone, and all the realm they had lost.\n\nDany had only meant their rooms in Illyrio’s estate, no true home surely, though all they\nhad, but her brother did not want to hear that. There was no home there for him. Even\nthe big house with the red door had not been home for him. His fingers dug hard into\nher arm, demanding an answer. “I don’t know . . . ”she said at last, her voice breaking.\nTears welled in her eyes.\n\n“I do,” he said sharply. “We go home with an army, sweet sister. With Khal Drogo’s\narmy, that is how we go home. And if you must wed him and bed him for that, you will.”\nHe smiled at her. “I’d let his whole khalasar fuck you if need be, sweet sister, all forty\nthousand men, and their horses too if that was what it took to get my army. Be grateful it\nis only Drogo. In time you may even learn to like him. Now dry your eyes. Illyrio is\nbringing him over, and he will not see you crying.”\n\nDany turned and saw that it was true. Magister Illyrio, all smiles and bows, was\nescorting Khal Drogo over to where they stood. She brushed away unfallen tears with the\nback of her hand.\n\n“Smile,” Viserys whispered nervously, his hand failing to the hilt of his sword. “And\nstand up straight. Let him see that you have breasts. Gods know, you have little enough\nas is.”\n\nDaenerys smiled, and stood up straight.\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [40] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n EDDARD\nThe visitors poured through the castle gates in a river of gold and silver and polished\nsteel, three hundred strong, a pride of bannermen and knights, of sworn swords and\nfreeriders. Over their heads a dozen golden banners whipped back and forth in the\nnorthern wind, emblazoned with the crowned stag of Baratheon.\n\nNed knew many of the riders. There came Ser Jaime Lannister with hair as bright as\nbeaten gold, and there Sandor Clegane with his terrible burned face. The tall boy beside\nhim could only be the crown prince, and that stunted little man behind them was surely\nthe Imp, Tyrion Lannister.\n\nYet the huge man at the head of the column, flanked by two knights in the snow-white\ncloaks of the Kingsguard, seemed almost a stranger to Ned . . . until he vaulted off the\nback of his warhorse with a familiar roar, and crushed him in a bone-crunching hug.\n“Ned! Ah, but it is good to see that frozen face of yours.” The king looked him over top to\nbottom, and laughed. “You have not changed at all.”\n\nWould that Ned had been able to say the same. Fifteen years past, when they had ridden\nforth to win a throne, the Lord of Storm’s End had been clean-shaven, clear-eyed, and\nmuscled like a maiden’s fantasy. Six and a half feet tall, he towered over lesser men, and\nwhen he donned his armor and the great antlered helmet of his House, he became a\nveritable giant. He’d had a giant’s strength too, his weapon of choice a spiked iron\nwarhammer that Ned could scarcely lift. In those days, the smell of leather and blood\nhad clung to him like perfume.\n\nNow it was perfume that clung to him like perfume, and he had a girth to match his\nheight. Ned had last seen the king nine years before during Balon Greyjoy’s rebellion,\nwhen the stag and the direwolf had joined to end the pretensions of the self-proclaimed\nKing of the Iron Islands. Since the night they had stood side by side in Greyjoy’s fallen\nstronghold, where Robert had accepted the rebel lord’s surrender and Ned had taken his\nson Theon as hostage and ward, the king had gained at least eight stone. A beard as\ncoarse and black as iron wire covered his jaw to hide his double chin and the sag of the\nroyal jowls, but nothing could hide his stomach or the dark circles under his eyes.\n\nYet Robert was Ned’s king now, and not just a friend, so he said only, “Your Grace.\nWinterfell is yours.”\n"
## [41] "By then the others were dismounting as well, and grooms were coming forward for their\nmounts. Robert’s queen, Cersei Lannister, entered on foot with her younger children.\nThe wheelhouse in which they had ridden, a huge double-decked carriage of oiled oak\nand gilded metal pulled by forty heavy draft horses, was too wide to pass through the\ncastle gate. Ned knelt in the snow to kiss the queen’s ring, while Robert embraced\nCatelyn like a long-lost sister. Then the children had been brought forward, introduced,\nand approved of by both sides.\n\nNo sooner had those formalities of greeting been completed than the king had said to his\nhost, “Take me down to your crypt, Eddard. I would pay my respects.”\n\nNed loved him for that, for remembering her still after all these years. He called for a\nlantern. No other words were needed. The queen had begun to protest. They had been\nriding since dawn, everyone was tired and cold, surely they should refresh themselves\nfirst. The dead would wait. She had said no more than that; Robert had looked at her,\nand her twin brother Jaime had taken her quietly by the arm, and she had said no more.\n\nThey went down to the crypt together, Ned and this king he scarcely recognized. The\nwinding stone steps were narrow. Ned went first with the lantern. “I was starting to\nthink we would never reach Winterfell,” Robert complained as they descended. “In the\nsouth, the way they talk about my Seven Kingdoms, a man forgets that your part is as big\nas the other six combined.”\n\n“I trust you enjoyed the journey, Your Grace?”\n\nRobert snorted. “Bogs and forests and fields, and scarcely a decent inn north of the\nNeck. I’ve never seen such a vast emptiness. Where are all your people?”\n\n“Likely they were too shy to come out,” Ned jested. He could feel the chill coming up the\nstairs, a cold breath from deep within the earth. “Kings are a rare sight in the north.”\n\nRobert snorted. “More likely they were hiding under the snow. Snow, Ned!” The king\nput one hand on the wall to steady himself as they descended.\n\n“Late summer snows are common enough,” Ned said. “I hope they did not trouble you.\nThey are usually mild.”\n\n“The Others take your mild snows,” Robert swore. “What will this place be like in\nwinter? I shudder to think.”\n\n“The winters are hard,” Ned admitted. “But the Starks will endure. We always have.”\n"
## [42] "“You need to come south,” Robert told him. “You need a taste of summer before it flees.\nIn Highgarden there are fields of golden roses that stretch away as far as the eye can see.\nThe fruits are so ripe they explode in your mouth—melons, peaches, fireplums, you’ve\nnever tasted such sweetness. You’ll see, I brought you some. Even at Storm’s End, with\nthat good wind off the bay, the days are so hot you can barely move. And you ought to\nsee the towns, Ned! Flowers everywhere, the markets bursting with food, the\nsummerwines so cheap and so good that you can get drunk just breathing the air.\nEveryone is fat and drunk and rich.” He laughed and slapped his own ample stomach a\nthump. “And the girls, Ned!” he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling. “I swear, women lose all\nmodesty in the heat. They swim naked in the river, right beneath the castle. Even in the\nstreets, it’s too damn hot for wool or fur, so they go around in these short gowns, silk if\nthey have the silver and cotton if not, but it’s all the same when they start sweating and\nthe cloth sticks to their skin, they might as well be naked.” The king laughed happily.\n\nRobert Baratheon had always been a man of huge appetites, a man who knew how to\ntake his pleasures. That was not a charge anyone could lay at the door of Eddard Stark.\nYet Ned could not help but notice that those pleasures were taking a toll on the king.\nRobert was breathing heavily by the time they reached the bottom of the stairs, his face\nred in the lantern light as they stepped out into the darkness of the crypt.\n\n“Your Grace,” Ned said respectfully. He swept the lantern in a wide semicircle. Shadows\nmoved and lurched. Flickering light touched the stones underfoot and brushed against a\nlong procession of granite pillars that marched ahead, two by two, into the dark.\nBetween the pillars, the dead sat on their stone thrones against the walls, backs against\nthe sepulchres that contained their mortal remains. “She is down at the end, with Father\nand Brandon.”\n\nHe led the way between the pillars and Robert followed wordlessly, shivering in the\nsubterranean chill. It was always cold down here. Their footsteps rang off the stones and\nechoed in the vault overhead as they walked among the dead of House Stark. The Lords\nof Winterfell watched them pass. Their likenesses were carved into the stones that sealed\nthe tombs. In long rows they sat, blind eyes staring out into eternal darkness, while great\nstone direwolves curled round their feet. The shifting shadows made the stone figures\nseem to stir as the living passed by.\n\nBy ancient custom an iron longsword had been laid across the lap of each who had been\nLord of Winterfell, to keep the vengeful spirits in their crypts. The oldest had long ago\nrusted away to nothing, leaving only a few red stains where the metal had rested on\nstone. Ned wondered if that meant those ghosts were free to roam the castle now. He\nhoped not. The first Lords of Winterfell had been men hard as the land they ruled. In the\ncenturies before the Dragonlords came over the sea, they had sworn allegiance to no\nman, styling themselves the Kings in the North.\n"
## [43] "Ned stopped at last and lifted the oil lantern. The crypt continued on into darkness\nahead of them, but beyond this point the tombs were empty and unsealed; black holes\nwaiting for their dead, waiting for him and his children. Ned did not like to think on\nthat. “Here,” he told his king.\n\nRobert nodded silently, knelt, and bowed his head.\n\nThere were three tombs, side by side. Lord Rickard Stark, Ned’s father, had a long, stern\nface. The stonemason had known him well. He sat with quiet dignity, stone fingers\nholding tight to the sword across his lap, but in life all swords had failed him. In two\nsmaller sepulchres on either side were his children.\n\nBrandon had been twenty when he died, strangled by order of the Mad King Aerys\nTargaryen only a few short days before he was to wed Catelyn Tully of Riverrun. His\nfather had been forced to watch him die. He was the true heir, the eldest, born to rule.\n\nLyanna had only been sixteen, a child-woman of surpassing loveliness. Ned had loved\nher with all his heart. Robert had loved her even more. She was to have been his bride.\n\n“She was more beautiful than that,” the king said after a silence. His eyes lingered on\nLyanna’s face, as if he could will her back to life. Finally he rose, made awkward by his\nweight. “Ah, damn it, Ned, did you have to bury her in a place like this?” His voice was\nhoarse with remembered grief. “She deserved more than darkness . . . ”\n\n“She was a Stark of Winterfell,” Ned said quietly. “This is her place.”\n\n“She should be on a hill somewhere, under a fruit tree, with the sun and clouds above\nher and the rain to wash her clean.”\n\n“I was with her when she died,” Ned reminded the king. “She wanted to come home, to\nrest beside Brandon and Father.” He could hear her still at times. Promise me, she had\ncried, in a room that smelled of blood and roses. Promise me, Ned. The fever had taken\nher strength and her voice had been faint as a whisper, but when he gave her his word,\nthe fear had gone out of his sister’s eyes. Ned remembered the way she had smiled then,\nhow tightly her fingers had clutched his as she gave up her hold on life, the rose petals\nspilling from her palm, dead and black. After that he remembered nothing. They had\nfound him still holding her body, silent with grief. The little crannogman, Howland\nReed, had taken her hand from his. Ned could recall none of it. “I bring her flowers when\nI can,” he said. “Lyanna was . . . fond of flowers.”\n\nThe king touched her cheek, his fingers brushing across the rough stone as gently as if it\n"
## [44] "were living flesh. “I vowed to kill Rhaegar for what he did to her.”\n\n“You did,” Ned reminded him.\n\n“Only once,” Robert said bitterly.\n\nThey had come together at the ford of the Trident while the battle crashed around them,\nRobert with his warhammer and his great antlered helm, the Targaryen prince armored\nall in black. On his breastplate was the three-headed dragon of his House, wrought all in\nrubies that flashed like fire in the sunlight. The waters of the Trident ran red around the\nhooves of their destriers as they circled and clashed, again and again, until at last a\ncrushing blow from Robert’s hammer stove in the dragon and the chest beneath it.\nWhen Ned had finally come on the scene, Rhaegar lay dead in the stream, while men of\nboth armies scrabbled in the swirling waters for rubies knocked free of his armor.\n\n“In my dreams, I kill him every night,” Robert admitted. “A thousand deaths will still be\nless than he deserves.”\n\nThere was nothing Ned could say to that. After a quiet, he said, “We should return, Your\nGrace. Your wife will be waiting.”\n\n“The Others take my wife,” Robert muttered sourly, but he started back the way they had\ncome, his footsteps falling heavily. “And if I hear ‘Your Grace’ once more, I’ll have your\nhead on a spike. We are more to each other than that.”\n\n“I had not forgotten,” Ned replied quietly. When the king did not answer, he said, “Tell\nme about Jon.”\n\nRobert shook his head. “I have never seen a man sicken so quickly. We gave a tourney on\nmy son’s name day. If you had seen Jon then, you would have sworn he would live\nforever. A fortnight later he was dead. The sickness was like a fire in his gut. It burned\nright through him.” He paused beside a pillar, before the tomb of a long-dead Stark. “I\nloved that old man.”\n\n“We both did.” Ned paused a moment. “Catelyn fears for her sister. How does Lysa bear\nher grief?”\n\nRobert’s mouth gave a bitter twist. “Not well, in truth,” he admitted. “I think losing Jon\nhas driven the woman mad, Ned. She has taken the boy back to the Eyrie. Against my\nwishes. I had hoped to foster him with Tywin Lannister at Casterly Rock. Jon had no\nbrothers, no other sons. Was I supposed to leave him to be raised by women?”\n"
## [45] "Ned would sooner entrust a child to a pit viper than to Lord Tywin, but he left his doubts\nunspoken. Some old wounds never truly heal, and bleed again at the slightest word. “The\nwife has lost the husband,” he said carefully. “Perhaps the mother feared to lose the son.\nThe boy is very young.”\n\n“Six, and sickly, and Lord of the Eyrie, gods have mercy,” the king swore. “Lord Tywin\nhad never taken a ward before. Lysa ought to have been honored. The Lannisters are a\ngreat and noble House. She refused to even hear of it. Then she left in the dead of night,\nwithout so much as a by-your-leave. Cersei was furious.” He sighed deeply. “The boy is\nmy namesake, did you know that? Robert Arryn. I am sworn to protect him. How can I\ndo that if his mother steals him away?”\n\n“I will take him as ward, if you wish,” Ned said. “Lysa should consent to that. She and\nCatelyn were close as girls, and she would be welcome here as well.”\n\n“A generous offer, my friend,” the king said, “but too late. Lord Tywin has already given\nhis consent. Fostering the boy elsewhere would be a grievous affront to him.”\n\n“I have more concern for my nephew’s welfare than I do for Lannister pride,” Ned\ndeclared.\n\n“That is because you do not sleep with a Lannister.” Robert laughed, the sound rattling\namong the tombs and bouncing from the vaulted ceiling. His smile was a flash of white\nteeth in the thicket of the huge black beard. “Ah, Ned,” he said, “you are still too\nserious.” He put a massive arm around Ned’s shoulders. “I had planned to wait a few\ndays to speak to you, but I see now there’s no need for it. Come, walk with me.”\n\nThey started back down between the pillars. Blind stone eyes seemed to follow them as\nthey passed. The king kept his arm around Ned’s shoulder. “You must have wondered\nwhy I finally came north to Winterfell, after so long.”\n\nNed had his suspicions, but he did not give them voice. “For the joy of my company,\nsurely,” he said lightly. “And there is the Wall. You need to see it, Your Grace, to walk\nalong its battlements and talk to those who man it. The Night’s Watch is a shadow of\nwhat it once was. Benjen says—”\n\n“No doubt I will hear what your brother says soon enough,” Robert said. “The Wall has\nstood for what, eight thousand years? It can keep a few days more. I have more pressing\nconcerns. These are difficult times. I need good men about me. Men like Jon Arryn. He\nserved as Lord of the Eyrie, as Warden of the East, as the Hand of the King. He will not\nbe easy to replace.”\n"
## [46] "“His son . . . ” Ned began.\n\n“His son will succeed to the Eyrie and all its incomes,” Robert said brusquely. “No more.”\n\nThat took Ned by surprise. He stopped, startled, and turned to look at his king. The\nwords came unbidden. “The Arryns have always been Wardens of the East. The title goes\nwith the domain.”\n\n“Perhaps when he comes of age, the honor can be restored to him,” Robert said. “I have\nthis year to think of, and next. A six-year-old boy is no war leader, Ned.”\n\n“In peace, the title is only an honor. Let the boy keep it. For his father’s sake if not his\nown. Surely you owe Jon that much for his service.”\n\nThe king was not pleased. He took his arm from around Ned’s shoulders. “Jon’s service\nwas the duty he owed his liege lord. I am not ungrateful, Ned. You of all men ought to\nknow that. But the son is not the father. A mere boy cannot hold the east.” Then his tone\nsoftened. “Enough of this. There is a more important office to discuss, and I would not\nargue with you.” Robert grasped Ned by the elbow. “I have need of you, Ned.”\n\n“I am yours to command, Your Grace. Always.” They were words he had to say, and so he\nsaid them, apprehensive about what might come next.\n\nRobert scarcely seemed to hear him. “Those years we spent in the Eyrie . . . gods, those\nwere good years. I want you at my side again, Ned. I want you down in King’s Landing,\nnot up here at the end of the world where you are no damned use to anybody.” Robert\nlooked off into the darkness, for a moment as melancholy as a Stark. “I swear to you,\nsitting a throne is a thousand times harder than winning one. Laws are a tedious\nbusiness and counting coppers is worse. And the people . . . there is no end of them. I sit\non that damnable iron chair and listen to them complain until my mind is numb and my\nass is raw. They all want something, money or land or justice. The lies they tell . . . and\nmy lords and ladies are no better. I am surrounded by flatterers and fools. It can drive a\nman to madness, Ned. Half of them don’t dare tell me the truth, and the other half can’t\nfind it. There are nights I wish we had lost at the Trident. Ah, no, not truly, but . . .\n\n“I understand,” Ned said softly.\n\nRobert looked at him. “I think you do. If so, you are the only one, my old friend.” He\nsmiled. “Lord Eddard Stark, I would name you the Hand of the King.”\n\nNed dropped to one knee. The offer did not surprise him; what other reason could\nRobert have had for coming so far? The Hand of the King was the second-most powerful\n"
## [47] "man in the Seven Kingdoms. He spoke with the king’s voice, commanded the king’s\narmies, drafted the king’s laws. At times he even sat upon the Iron Throne to dispense\nking’s justice, when the king was absent, or sick, or otherwise indisposed. Robert was\noffering him a responsibility as large as the realm itself.\n\nIt was the last thing in the world he wanted.\n\n“Your Grace,” he said. “I am not worthy of the honor.”\n\nRobert groaned with good-humored impatience. “If I wanted to honor you, I’d let you\nretire. I am planning to make you run the kingdom and fight the wars while I eat and\ndrink and wench myself into an early grave.” He slapped his gut and grinned. “You know\nthe saying, about the king and his Hand?”\n\nNed knew the saying. “What the king dreams,” he said, “the Hand builds.”\n\n“I bedded a fishmaid once who told me the lowborn have a choicer way to put it. The\nking eats, they say, and the Hand takes the shit.” He threw back his head and roared his\nlaughter. The echoes rang through the darkness, and all around them the dead of\nWinterfell seemed to watch with cold and disapproving eyes.\n\nFinally the laughter dwindled and stopped. Ned was still on one knee, his eyes upraised.\n“Damn it, Ned,” the king complained. “You might at least humor me with a smile.”\n\n“They say it grows so cold up here in winter that a man’s laughter freezes in his throat\nand chokes him to death,” Ned said evenly. “Perhaps that is why the Starks have so little\nhumor.”\n\n“Come south with me, and I’ll teach you how to laugh again,” the king promised. “You\nhelped me win this damnable throne, now help me hold it. We were meant to rule\ntogether. If Lyanna had lived, we should have been brothers, bound by blood as well as\naffection. Well, it is not too late. I have a son. You have a daughter. My Joff and your\nSansa shall join our houses, as Lyanna and I might once have done.”\n\nThis offer did surprise him. “Sansa is only eleven.”\n\nRobert waved an impatient hand. “Old enough for betrothal. The marriage can wait a\nfew years.” The king smiled. “Now stand up and say yes, curse you.”\n\n“Nothing would give me greater pleasure, Your Grace,” Ned answered. He hesitated.\n“These honors are all so unexpected. May I have some time to consider? I need to tell my\nwife . . . ”\n"
## [48] "“Yes, yes, of course, tell Catelyn, sleep on it if you must.” The king reached down, clasped\nNed by the hand, and pulled him roughly to his feet. “Just don’t keep me waiting too\nlong. I am not the most patient of men.”\n\nFor a moment Eddard Stark was filled with a terrible sense of foreboding. This was his\nplace, here in the north. He looked at the stone figures all around them, breathed deep\nin the chill silence of the crypt. He could feel the eyes of the dead. They were all\nlistening, he knew. And winter was coming.\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [49] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n JON\nThere were times—not many, but a few—when Jon Snow was glad he was a bastard. As\nhe filled his wine cup once more from a passing flagon, it struck him that this might be\none of them.\n\nHe settled back in his place on the bench among the younger squires and drank. The\nsweet, fruity taste of summerwine filled his mouth and brought a smile to his lips.\n\nThe Great Hall of Winterfell was hazy with smoke and heavy with the smell of roasted\nmeat and fresh-baked bread. Its grey stone walls were draped with banners. White, gold,\ncrimson: the direwolf of Stark, Baratheon’s crowned stag, the lion of Lannister. A singer\nwas playing the high harp and reciting a ballad, but down at this end of the hall his voice\ncould scarcely be heard above the roar of the fire, the clangor of pewter plates and cups,\nand the low mutter of a hundred drunken conversations.\n\nIt was the fourth hour of the welcoming feast laid for the king. Jon’s brothers and sisters\nhad been seated with the royal children, beneath the raised platform where Lord and\nLady Stark hosted the king and queen. In honor of the occasion, his lord father would\ndoubtless permit each child a glass of wine, but no more than that. Down here on the\nbenches, there was no one to stop Jon drinking as much as he had a thirst for.\n\nAnd he was finding that he had a man’s thirst, to the raucous delight of the youths\naround him, who urged him on every time he drained a glass. They were fine company,\nand Jon relished the stories they were telling, tales of battle and bedding and the hunt.\nHe was certain that his companions were more entertaining than the king’s offspring.\nHe had sated his curiosity about the visitors when they made their entrance. The\nprocession had passed not a foot from the place he had been given on the bench, and Jon\nhad gotten a good long look at them all.\n\nHis lord father had come first, escorting the queen. She was as beautiful as men said. A\njeweled tiara gleamed amidst her long golden hair, its emeralds a perfect match for the\ngreen of her eyes. His father helped her up the steps to the dais and led her to her seat,\nbut the queen never so much as looked at him. Even at fourteen, Jon could see through\nher smile.\n\nNext had come King Robert himself, with Lady Stark on his arm. The king was a great\n"
## [50] "disappointment to Jon. His father had talked of him often: the peerless Robert\nBaratheon, demon of the Trident, the fiercest warrior of the realm, a giant among\nprinces. Jon saw only a fat man, red-faced under his beard, sweating through his silks.\nHe walked like a man half in his cups.\n\nAfter them came the children. Little Rickon first, managing the long walk with all the\ndignity a three-year-old could muster. Jon had to urge him on when he stopped to visit.\nClose behind came Robb, in grey wool trimmed with white, the Stark colors. He had the\nPrincess Myrcella on his arm. She was a wisp of a girl, not quite eight, her hair a cascade\nof golden curls under a jeweled net. Jon noticed the shy looks she gave Robb as they\npassed between the tables and the timid way she smiled at him. He decided she was\ninsipid. Robb didn’t even have the sense to realize how stupid she was; he was grinning\nlike a fool.\n\nHis half sisters escorted the royal princes. Arya was paired with plump young Tommen,\nwhose white-blond hair was longer than hers. Sansa, two years older, drew the crown\nprince, Joffrey Baratheon. He was twelve, younger than Jon or Robb, but taller than\neither, to Jon’s vast dismay. Prince Joffrey had his sister’s hair and his mother’s deep\ngreen eyes. A thick tangle of blond curls dripped down past his golden choker and high\nvelvet collar. Sansa looked radiant as she walked beside him, but Jon did not like\nJoffrey’s pouty lips or the bored, disdainful way he looked at Winterfell’s Great Hall.\n\nHe was more interested in the pair that came behind him: the queen’s brothers, the\nLannisters of Casterly Rock. The Lion and the Imp; there was no mistaking which was\nwhich. Ser Jaime Lannister was twin to Queen Cersei; tall and golden, with flashing\ngreen eyes and a smile that cut like a knife. He wore crimson silk, high black boots, a\nblack satin cloak. On the breast of his tunic, the lion of his House was embroidered in\ngold thread, roaring its defiance. They called him the Lion of Lannister to his face and\nwhispered “Kingslayer” behind his back.\n\nJon found it hard to look away from him. This is what a king should look like, he\nthought to himself as the man passed.\n\nThen he saw the other one, waddling along half-hidden by his brother’s side. Tyrion\nLannister, the youngest of Lord Tywin’s brood and by far the ugliest. All that the gods\nhad given to Cersei and Jaime, they had denied Tyrion. He was a dwarf, half his\nbrother’s height, struggling to keep pace on stunted legs. His head was too large for his\nbody, with a brute’s squashed-in face beneath a swollen shelf of brow. One green eye and\none black one peered out from under a lank fall of hair so blond it seemed white. Jon\nwatched him with fascination.\n\nThe last of the high lords to enter were his uncle, Benjen Stark of the Night’s Watch, and\n"
## [51] "his father’s ward, young Theon Greyjoy. Benjen gave Jon a warm smile as he went by.\nTheon ignored him utterly, but there was nothing new in that. After all had been seated,\ntoasts were made, thanks were given and returned, and then the feasting began.\n\nJon had started drinking then, and he had not stopped.\n\nSomething rubbed against his leg beneath the table. Jon saw red eyes staring up at him.\n“Hungry again?” he asked. There was still half a honeyed chicken in the center of the\ntable. Jon reached out to tear off a leg, then had a better idea. He knifed the bird whole\nand let the carcass slide to the floor between his legs. Ghost ripped into it in savage\nsilence. His brothers and sisters had not been permitted to bring their wolves to the\nbanquet, but there were more curs than Jon could count at this end of the hall, and no\none had said a word about his pup. He told himself he was fortunate in that too.\n\nHis eyes stung. Jon rubbed at them savagely, cursing the smoke. He swallowed another\ngulp of wine and watched his direwolf devour the chicken.\n\nDogs moved between the tables, trailing after the serving girls. One of them, a black\nmongrel bitch with long yellow eyes, caught a scent of the chicken. She stopped and\nedged under the bench to get a share. Jon watched the confrontation. The bitch growled\nlow in her throat and moved closer. Ghost looked up, silent, and fixed the dog with those\nhot red eyes. The bitch snapped an angry challenge. She was three times the size of the\ndirewolf pup. Ghost did not move. He stood over his prize and opened his mouth, baring\nhis fangs. The bitch tensed, barked again, then thought better of this fight. She turned\nand slunk away, with one last defiant snap to save her pride. Ghost went back to his\nmeal.\n\nJon grinned and reached under the table to ruffle the shaggy white fur. The direwolf\nlooked up at him, nipped gently at his hand, then went back to eating.\n\n“Is this one of the direwolves I’ve heard so much of?” a familiar voice asked close at hand.\n\nJon looked up happily as his uncle Ben put a hand on his head and ruffled his hair much\nas Jon had ruffled the wolf’s. “Yes,” he said. “His name is Ghost.”\n\nOne of the squires interrupted the bawdy story he’d been telling to make room at the\ntable for their lord’s brother. Benjen Stark straddled the bench with long legs and took\nthe wine cup out of Jon’s hand. “Summerwine,” he said after a taste. “Nothing so sweet.\nHow many cups have you had, Jon?”\n\nJon smiled.\n"
## [52] "Ben Stark laughed. “As I feared. Ah, well. I believe I was younger than you the first time\nI got truly and sincerely drunk.” He snagged a roasted onion, dripping brown with gravy,\nfrom a nearby trencher and bit into it. It crunched.\n\nHis uncle was sharp-featured and gaunt as a mountain crag, but there was always a hint\nof laughter in his blue-grey eyes. He dressed in black, as befitted a man of the Night’s\nWatch. Tonight it was rich black velvet, with high leather boots and a wide belt with a\nsilver buckle. A heavy silver chain was looped round his neck. Benjen watched Ghost\nwith amusement as he ate his onion. “A very quiet wolf,” he observed.\n\n“He’s not like the others,” Jon said. “He never makes a sound. That’s why I named him\nGhost. That, and because he’s white. The others are all dark, grey or black.”\n\n“There are still direwolves beyond the Wall. We hear them on our rangings.” Benjen\nStark gave Jon a long look. “Don’t you usually eat at table with your brothers?”\n\n“Most times,” Jon answered in a flat voice. “But tonight Lady Stark thought it might give\ninsult to the royal family to seat a bastard among them.”\n\n“I see.” His uncle glanced over his shoulder at the raised table at the far end of the hall.\n“My brother does not seem very festive tonight.”\n\nJon had noticed that too. A bastard had to learn to notice things, to read the truth that\npeople hid behind their eyes. His father was observing all the courtesies, but there was\ntightness in him that Jon had seldom seen before. He said little, looking out over the hall\nwith hooded eyes, seeing nothing. Two seats away, the king had been drinking heavily all\nnight. His broad face was flushed behind his great black beard. He made many a toast,\nlaughed loudly at every jest, and attacked each dish like a starving man, but beside him\nthe queen seemed as cold as an ice sculpture. “The queen is angry too,” Jon told his\nuncle in a low, quiet voice. “Father took the king down to the crypts this afternoon. The\nqueen didn’t want him to go.”\n\nBenjen gave Jon a careful, measuring look. “You don’t miss much, do you, Jon? We\ncould use a man like you on the Wall.”\n\nJon swelled with pride. “Robb is a stronger lance than I am, but I’m the better sword,\nand Hullen says I sit a horse as well as anyone in the castle.”\n\n“Notable achievements.”\n\n“Take me with you when you go back to the Wall,” Jon said in a sudden rush. “Father\nwill give me leave to go if you ask him, I know he will.”\n"
## [53] "Uncle Benjen studied his face carefully. “The Wall is a hard place for a boy, Jon.”\n\n“I am almost a man grown,” Jon protested. “I will turn fifteen on my next name day, and\nMaester Luwin says bastards grow up faster than other children.”\n\n“That’s true enough,” Benjen said with a downward twist of his mouth. He took Jon’s\ncup from the table, filled it fresh from a nearby pitcher, and drank down a long swallow.\n\n“Daeren Targaryen was only fourteen when he conquered Dorne,” Jon said. The Young\nDragon was one of his heroes.\n\n“A conquest that lasted a summer,” his uncle pointed out. “Your Boy King lost ten\nthousand men taking the place, and another fifty trying to hold it. Someone should have\ntold him that war isn’t a game.” He took another sip of wine. “Also,” he said, wiping his\nmouth, “Daeren Targaryen was only eighteen when he died. Or have you forgotten that\npart?”\n\n“I forget nothing,” Jon boasted. The wine was making him bold. He tried to sit very\nstraight, to make himself seem taller. “I want to serve in the Night’s Watch, Uncle.”\n\nHe had thought on it long and hard, lying abed at night while his brothers slept around\nhim. Robb would someday inherit Winterfell, would command great armies as the\nWarden of the North. Bran and Rickon would be Robb’s bannermen and rule holdfasts\nin his name. His sisters Arya and Sansa would marry the heirs of other great houses and\ngo south as mistress of castles of their own. But what place could a bastard hope to earn?\n\n“You don’t know what you’re asking, Jon. The Night’s Watch is a sworn brotherhood. We\nhave no families. None of us will ever father sons. Our wife is duty. Our mistress is\nhonor.”\n\n“A bastard can have honor too,” Jon said. “I am ready to swear your oath.”\n\n“You are a boy of fourteen,” Benjen said. “Not a man, not yet. Until you have known a\nwoman, you cannot understand what you would be giving up.”\n\n“I don’t care about that!” Jon said hotly.\n\n“You might, if you knew what it meant,” Benjen said. “If you knew what the oath would\ncost you, you might be less eager to pay the price, son.”\n\nJon felt anger rise inside him. “I’m not your son!”\n"
## [54] "Benjen Stark stood up. “More’s the pity.” He put a hand on Jon’s shoulder. “Come back\nto me after you’ve fathered a few bastards of your own, and we’ll see how you feel.”\n\nJon trembled. “I will never father a bastard,” he said carefully. “Never!” He spat it out\nlike venom.\n\nSuddenly he realized that the table had fallen silent, and they were all looking at him. He\nfelt the tears begin to well behind his eyes. He pushed himself to his feet.\n\n“I must be excused,” he said with the last of his dignity. He whirled and bolted before\nthey could see him cry. He must have drunk more wine than he had realized. His feet got\ntangled under him as he tried to leave, and he lurched sideways into a serving girl and\nsent a flagon of spiced wine crashing to the floor. Laughter boomed all around him, and\nJon felt hot tears on his cheeks. Someone tried to steady him. He wrenched free of their\ngrip and ran, half-blind, for the door. Ghost followed close at his heels, out into the night.\n\nThe yard was quiet and empty. A lone sentry stood high on the battlements of the inner\nwall, his cloak pulled tight around him against the cold. He looked bored and miserable\nas he huddled there alone, but Jon would have traded places with him in an instant.\nOtherwise the castle was dark and deserted. Jon had seen an abandoned holdfast once, a\ndrear place where nothing moved but the wind and the stones kept silent about whatever\npeople had lived there. Winterfell reminded him of that tonight.\n\nThe sounds of music and song spilled through the open windows behind him. They were\nthe last things Jon wanted to hear. He wiped away his tears on the sleeve of his shirt,\nfurious that he had let them fall, and turned to go.\n\n“Boy,” a voice called out to him. Jon turned.\n\nTyrion Lannister was sitting on the ledge above the door to the Great Hall, looking for all\nthe world like a gargoyle. The dwarf grinned down at him. “Is that animal a wolf?”\n\n“A direwolf,” Jon said. “His name is Ghost.” He stared up at the little man, his\ndisappointment suddenly forgotten. “What are you doing up there? Why aren’t you at\nthe feast?”\n\n“Too hot, too noisy, and I’d drunk too much wine,” the dwarf told him. “I learned long\nago that it is considered rude to vomit on your brother. Might I have a closer look at your\nwolf?”\n\nJon hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Can you climb down, or shall I bring a ladder?”\n"
## [55] "“Oh, bleed that,” the little man said. He pushed himself off the ledge into empty air. Jon\ngasped, then watched with awe as Tyrion Lannister spun around in a tight ball, landed\nlightly on his hands, then vaulted backward onto his legs.\n\nGhost backed away from him uncertainly.\n\nThe dwarf dusted himself off and laughed. “I believe I’ve frightened your wolf. My\napologies.”\n\n“He’s not scared,” Jon said. He knelt and called out. “Ghost, come here. Come on. That’s\nit.”\n\nThe wolf pup padded closer and nuzzled at Jon’s face, but he kept a wary eye on Tyrion\nLannister, and when the dwarf reached out to pet him, he drew back and bared his fangs\nin a silent snarl. “Shy, isn’t he?” Lannister observed.\n\n“Sit, Ghost,” Jon commanded. “That’s it. Keep still.” He looked up at the dwarf. “You can\ntouch him now. He won’t move until I tell him to. I’ve been training him.”\n\n“I see,” Lannister said. He ruffled the snow-white fur between Ghost’s ears and said,\n“Nice wolf.”\n\n“If I wasn’t here, he’d tear out your throat,” Jon said. It wasn’t actually true yet, but it\nwould be.\n\n“In that case, you had best stay close,” the dwarf said. He cocked his oversized head to\none side and looked Jon over with his mismatched eyes. “I am Tyrion Lannister.”\n\n“I know,” Jon said. He rose. Standing, he was taller than the dwarf. It made him feel\nstrange.\n\n“You’re Ned Stark’s bastard, aren’t you?”\n\nJon felt a coldness pass right through him. He pressed his lips together and said nothing.\n\n“Did I offend you?” Lannister said. “Sorry. Dwarfs don’t have to be tactful. Generations\nof capering fools in motley have won me the right to dress badly and say any damn thing\nthat comes into my head.” He grinned. “You are the bastard, though.”\n\n“Lord Eddard Stark is my father,” Jon admitted stiffly.\n"
## [56] "Lannister studied his face. “Yes,” he said. “I can see it. You have more of the north in you\nthan your brothers.”\n\n“Half brothers,” Jon corrected. He was pleased by the dwarf’s comment, but he tried not\nto let it show.\n\n“Let me give you some counsel, bastard,” Lannister said. “Never forget what you are, for\nsurely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness.\nArmor yourself in it, and it will never be used to hurt you.”\n\nJon was in no mood for anyone’s counsel. “What do you know about being a bastard?”\n\n“All dwarfs are bastards in their father’s eyes.”\n\n“You are your mother’s trueborn son of Lannister.”\n\n“Am I?” the dwarf replied, sardonic. “Do tell my lord father. My mother died birthing\nme, and he’s never been sure.”\n\n“I don’t even know who my mother was,” Jon said.\n\n“Some woman, no doubt. Most of them are.” He favored Jon with a rueful grin.\n“Remember this, boy. All dwarfs may be bastards, yet not all bastards need be dwarfs.”\nAnd with that he turned and sauntered back into the feast, whistling a tune. When he\nopened the door, the light from within threw his shadow clear across the yard, and for\njust a moment Tyrion Lannister stood tall as a king.\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [57] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n CATELYN\nOf all the rooms in Winterfell’s Great Keep, Catelyn’s bedchambers were the hottest. She\nseldom had to light a fire. The castle had been built over natural hot springs, and the\nscalding waters rushed through its walls and chambers like blood through a man’s body,\ndriving the chill from the stone halls, filling the glass gardens with a moist warmth,\nkeeping the earth from freezing. Open pools smoked day and night in a dozen small\ncourtyards. That was a little thing, in summer; in winter, it was the difference between\nlife and death.\n\nCatelyn’s bath was always hot and steaming, and her walls warm to the touch. The\nwarmth reminded her of Riverrun, of days in the sun with Lysa and Edmure, but Ned\ncould never abide the heat. The Starks were made for the cold, he would tell her, and she\nwould laugh and tell him in that case they had certainly built their castle in the wrong\nplace.\n\nSo when they had finished, Ned rolled off and climbed from her bed, as he had a\nthousand times before. He crossed the room, pulled back the heavy tapestries, and threw\nopen the high narrow windows one by one, letting the night air into the chamber.\n\nThe wind swirled around him as he stood facing the dark, naked and empty-handed.\nCatelyn pulled the furs to her chin and watched him. He looked somehow smaller and\nmore vulnerable, like the youth she had wed in the sept at Riverrun, fifteen long years\ngone. Her loins still ached from the urgency of his lovemaking. It was a good ache. She\ncould feel his seed within her. She prayed that it might quicken there. It had been three\nyears since Rickon. She was not too old. She could give him another son.\n\n“I will refuse him,” Ned said as he turned back to her. His eyes were haunted, his voice\nthick with doubt.\n\nCatelyn sat up in the bed. “You cannot. You must not.”\n\n“My duties are here in the north. I have no wish to be Robert’s Hand.”\n\n“He will not understand that. He is a king now, and kings are not like other men. If you\nrefuse to serve him, he will wonder why, and sooner or later he will begin to suspect that\nyou oppose him. Can’t you see the danger that would put us in?”\n"
## [58] "Ned shook his head, refusing to believe. “Robert would never harm me or any of mine.\nWe were closer than brothers. He loves me. If I refuse him, he will roar and curse and\nbluster, and in a week we will laugh about it together. I know the man!”\n\n“You knew the man,” she said. “The king is a stranger to you.” Catelyn remembered the\ndirewolf dead in the snow, the broken antler lodged deep in her throat. She had to make\nhim see. “Pride is everything to a king, my lord. Robert came all this way to see you, to\nbring you these great honors, you cannot throw them back in his face.”\n\n“Honors?” Ned laughed bitterly.\n\n“In his eyes, yes,” she said.\n\n“And in yours?”\n\n“And in mine,” she blazed, angry now. Why couldn’t he see? “He offers his own son in\nmarriage to our daughter, what else would you call that? Sansa might someday be queen.\nHer sons could rule from the Wall to the mountains of Dorne. What is so wrong with\nthat?”\n\n“Gods, Catelyn, Sansa is only eleven,” Ned said. “And Joffrey . . . Joffrey is . . . ”\n\nShe finished for him. “ . . . crown prince, and heir to the Iron Throne. And I was only\ntwelve when my father promised me to your brother Brandon.”\n\nThat brought a bitter twist to Ned’s mouth. “Brandon. Yes. Brandon would know what to\ndo. He always did. It was all meant for Brandon. You, Winterfell, everything. He was\nborn to be a King’s Hand and a father to queens. I never asked for this cup to pass to me.”\n\n“Perhaps not,” Catelyn said, “but Brandon is dead, and the cup has passed, and you must\ndrink from it, like it or not.”\n\nNed turned away from her, back to the night. He stood staring out in the darkness,\nwatching the moon and the stars perhaps, or perhaps the sentries on the wall.\n\nCatelyn softened then, to see his pain. Eddard Stark had married her in Brandon’s place,\nas custom decreed, but the shadow of his dead brother still lay between them, as did the\nother, the shadow of the woman he would not name, the woman who had borne him his\nbastard son.\n\nShe was about to go to him when the knock came at the door, loud and unexpected. Ned\n"
## [59] "turned, frowning. “What is it?”\n\nDesmond’s voice came through the door. “My lord, Maester Luwin is without and begs\nurgent audience.”\n\n“You told him I had left orders not to be disturbed?”\n\n“Yes, my lord. He insists.”\n\n“Very well. Send him in.”\n\nNed crossed to the wardrobe and slipped on a heavy robe. Catelyn realized suddenly how\ncold it had become. She sat up in bed and pulled the furs to her chin. “Perhaps we should\nclose the windows,” she suggested.\n\nNed nodded absently. Maester Luwin was shown in.\n\nThe maester was a small grey man. His eyes were grey, and quick, and saw much. His\nhair was grey, what little the years had left him. His robe was grey wool, trimmed with\nwhite fur, the Stark colors. Its great floppy sleeves had pockets hidden inside. Luwin was\nalways tucking things into those sleeves and producing other things from them: books,\nmessages, strange artifacts, toys for the children. With all he kept hidden in his sleeves,\nCatelyn was surprised that Maester Luwin could lift his arms at all.\n\nThe maester waited until the door had closed behind him before he spoke. “My lord,” he\nsaid to Ned, “pardon for disturbing your rest. I have been left a message.”\n\nNed looked irritated. “Been left? By whom? Has there been a rider? I was not told.”\n\n“There was no rider, my lord. Only a carved wooden box, left on a table in my\nobservatory while I napped. My servants saw no one, but it must have been brought by\nsomeone in the king’s party. We have had no other visitors from the south.”\n\n“A wooden box, you say?” Catelyn said.\n\n“Inside was a fine new lens for the observatory, from Myr by the look of it. The\nlenscrafters of Myr are without equal.”\n\nNed frowned. He had little patience for this sort of thing, Catelyn knew. “A lens,” he said.\n“What has that to do with me?”\n"
## [60] "“I asked the same question,” Maester Luwin said. “Clearly there was more to this than\nthe seeming.”\n\nUnder the heavy weight of her furs, Catelyn shivered. “A lens is an instrument to help us\nsee.”\n\n“Indeed it is.” He fingered the collar of his order; a heavy chain worn tight around the\nneck beneath his robe, each link forged from a different metal.\n\nCatelyn could feel dread stirring inside her once again. “What is it that they would have\nus see more clearly?”\n\n“The very thing I asked myself.” Maester Luwin drew a tightly rolled paper out of his\nsleeve. “I found the true message concealed within a false bottom when I dismantled the\nbox the lens had come in, but it is not for my eyes.”\n\nNed held out his hand. “Let me have it, then.”\n\nLuwin did not stir. “Pardons, my lord. The message is not for you either. It is marked for\nthe eyes of the Lady Catelyn, and her alone. May I approach?”\n\nCatelyn nodded, not trusting to speak. The maester placed the paper on the table beside\nthe bed. It was sealed with a small blob of blue wax. Luwin bowed and began to retreat.\n\n“Stay,” Ned commanded him. His voice was grave. He looked at Catelyn. “What is it? My\nlady, you’re shaking.”\n\n“I’m afraid,” she admitted. She reached out and took the letter in trembling hands. The\nfurs dropped away from her nakedness, forgotten. In the blue wax was the moon-and-\nfalcon seal of House Arryn. “It’s from Lysa.” Catelyn looked at her husband. “It will not\nmake us glad,” she told him. “There is grief in this message, Ned. I can feel it.”\n\nNed frowned, his face darkening. “Open it.”\n\nCatelyn broke the seal.\n\nHer eyes moved over the words. At first they made no sense to her. Then she\nremembered. “Lysa took no chances. When we were girls together, we had a private\nlanguage, she and I.”\n\n“Can you read it?”\n"
## [61] "“Yes,” Catelyn admitted.\n\n“Then tell us.”\n\n“Perhaps I should withdraw,” Maester Luwin said.\n\n“No,” Catelyn said. “We will need your counsel.” She threw back the furs and climbed\nfrom the bed. The night air was as cold as the grave on her bare skin as she padded\nacross the room.\n\nMaester Luwin averted his eyes. Even Ned looked shocked. “What are you doing?” he\nasked.\n\n“Lighting a fire,” Catelyn told him. She found a dressing gown and shrugged into it, then\nknelt over the cold hearth.\n\n“Maester Luwin—” Ned began.\n\n“Maester Luwin has delivered all my children,” Catelyn said. “This is no time for false\nmodesty.” She slid the paper in among the kindling and placed the heavier logs on top of\nit.\n\nNed crossed the room, took her by the arm, and pulled her to her feet. He held her there,\nhis face inches from her. “My lady, tell me! What was this message?”\n\nCatelyn stiffened in his grasp. “A warning,” she said softly. “If we have the wits to hear.”\n\nHis eyes searched her face. “Go on.”\n\n“Lysa says Jon Arryn was murdered.”\n\nHis fingers tightened on her arm. “By whom?”\n\n“The Lannisters,” she told him. “The queen.”\n\nNed released his hold on her arm. There were deep red marks on her skin. “Gods,” he\nwhispered. His voice was hoarse. “Your sister is sick with grief. She cannot know what\nshe is saying.”\n\n“She knows,” Catelyn said. “Lysa is impulsive, yes, but this message was carefully\nplanned, cleverly hidden. She knew it meant death if her letter fell into the wrong hands.\n"
## [62] "To risk so much, she must have had more than mere suspicion.” Catelyn looked to her\nhusband. “Now we truly have no choice. You must be Robert’s Hand. You must go south\nwith him and learn the truth.”\n\nShe saw at once that Ned had reached a very different conclusion. “The only truths I\nknow are here. The south is a nest of adders I would do better to avoid.”\n\nLuwin plucked at his chain collar where it had chafed the soft skin of his throat. “The\nHand of the King has great power, my lord. Power to find the truth of Lord Arryn’s\ndeath, to bring his killers to the king’s justice. Power to protect Lady Arryn and her son,\nif the worst be true.”\n\nNed glanced helplessly around the bedchamber. Catelyn’s heart went out to him, but she\nknew she could not take him in her arms just then. First the victory must be won, for her\nchildren’s sake. “You say you love Robert like a brother. Would you leave your brother\nsurrounded by Lannisters?”\n\n“The Others take both of you,” Ned muttered darkly. He turned away from them and\nwent to the window. She did not speak, nor did the maester. They waited, quiet, while\nEddard Stark said a silent farewell to the home he loved. When he turned away from the\nwindow at last, his voice was tired and full of melancholy, and moisture glittered faintly\nin the corners of his eyes. “My father went south once, to answer the summons of a king.\nHe never came home again.”\n\n“A different time,” Maester Luwin said. “A different king.”\n\n“Yes,” Ned said dully. He seated himself in a chair by the hearth. “Catelyn, you shall stay\nhere in Winterfell.”\n\nHis words were like an icy draft through her heart. “No,” she said, suddenly afraid. Was\nthis to be her punishment? Never to see his face again, nor to feel his arms around her?\n\n“Yes,” Ned said, in words that would brook no argument. “You must govern the north in\nmy stead, while I run Robert’s errands. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell. Robb\nis fourteen. Soon enough, he will be a man grown. He must learn to rule, and I will not\nbe here for him. Make him part of your councils. He must be ready when his time\ncomes.”\n\n“Gods will, not for many years,” Maester Luwin murmured.\n\n“Maester Luwin, I trust you as I would my own blood. Give my wife your voice in all\nthings great and small. Teach my son the things he needs to know. Winter is coming.”\n"
## [63] "Maester Luwin nodded gravely. Then silence fell, until Catelyn found her courage and\nasked the question whose answer she most dreaded. “What of the other children?”\n\nNed stood, and took her in his arms, and held her face close to his. “Rickon is very\nyoung,” he said gently. “He should stay here with you and Robb. The others I would take\nwith me.”\n\n“I could not bear it,” Catelyn said, trembling.\n\n“You must,” he said. “Sansa must wed Joffrey, that is clear now, we must give them no\ngrounds to suspect our devotion. And it is past time that Arya learned the ways of a\nsouthron court. In a few years she will be of an age to marry too.”\n\nSansa would shine in the south, Catelyn thought to herself, and the gods knew that Arya\nneeded refinement. Reluctantly, she let go of them in her heart. But not Bran. Never\nBran. “Yes,” she said, “but please, Ned, for the love you bear me, let Bran remain here at\nWinterfell. He is only seven.”\n\n“I was eight when my father sent me to foster at the Eyrie,” Ned said. “Ser Rodrik tells\nme there is bad feeling between Robb and Prince Joffrey. That is not healthy. Bran can\nbridge that distance. He is a sweet boy, quick to laugh, easy to love. Let him grow up\nwith the young princes, let him become their friend as Robert became mine. Our House\nwill be the safer for it.”\n\nHe was right; Catelyn knew it. It did not make the pain any easier to bear. She would\nlose all four of them, then: Ned, and both girls, and her sweet, loving Bran. Only Robb\nand little Rickon would be left to her. She felt lonely already. Winterfell was such a vast\nplace. “Keep him off the walls, then,” she said bravely. “You know how Bran loves to\nclimb.”\n\nNed kissed the tears from her eyes before they could fall. “Thank you, my lady,” he\nwhispered. “This is hard, I know.”\n\n“What of Jon Snow, my lord?” Maester Luwin asked.\n\nCatelyn tensed at the mention of the name. Ned felt the anger in her, and pulled away.\n\nMany men fathered bastards. Catelyn had grown up with that knowledge. It came as no\nsurprise to her, in the first year of her marriage, to learn that Ned had fathered a child\non some girl chance met on campaign. He had a man’s needs, after all, and they had\nspent that year apart, Ned off at war in the south while she remained safe in her father’s\n"
## [64] "castle at Riverrun. Her thoughts were more of Robb, the infant at her breast, than of the\nhusband she scarcely knew. He was welcome to whatever solace he might find between\nbattles. And if his seed quickened, she expected he would see to the child’s needs.\n\nHe did more than that. The Starks were not like other men. Ned brought his bastard\nhome with him, and called him “son” for all the north to see. When the wars were over at\nlast, and Catelyn rode to Winterfell, Jon and his wet nurse had already taken up\nresidence.\n\nThat cut deep. Ned would not speak of the mother, not so much as a word, but a castle\nhas no secrets, and Catelyn heard her maids repeating tales they heard from the lips of\nher husband’s soldiers. They whispered of Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning,\ndeadliest of the seven knights of Aerys’s Kingsguard, and of how their young lord had\nslain him in single combat. And they told how afterward Ned had carried Ser Arthur’s\nsword back to the beautiful young sister who awaited him in a castle called Starfall on\nthe shores of the Summer Sea. The Lady Ashara Dayne, tall and fair, with haunting\nviolet eyes. It had taken her a fortnight to marshal her courage, but finally, in bed one\nnight, Catelyn had asked her husband the truth of it, asked him to his face.\n\nThat was the only time in all their years that Ned had ever frightened her. “Never ask me\nabout Jon,” he said, cold as ice. “He is my blood, and that is all you need to know. And\nnow I will learn where you heard that name, my lady.” She had pledged to obey; she told\nhim; and from that day on, the whispering had stopped, and Ashara Dayne’s name was\nnever heard in Winterfell again.\n\nWhoever Jon’s mother had been, Ned must have loved her fiercely, for nothing Catelyn\nsaid would persuade him to send the boy away. It was the one thing she could never\nforgive him. She had come to love her husband with all her heart, but she had never\nfound it in her to love Jon. She might have overlooked a dozen bastards for Ned’s sake,\nso long as they were out of sight. Jon was never out of sight, and as he grew, he looked\nmore like Ned than any of the trueborn sons she bore him. Somehow that made it worse.\n“Jon must go,” she said now.\n\n“He and Robb are close,” Ned said. “I had hoped . . . ”\n\n“He cannot stay here,” Catelyn said, cutting him off. “He is your son, not mine. I will not\nhave him.” It was hard, she knew, but no less the truth. Ned would do the boy no\nkindness by leaving him here at Winterfell.\n\nThe look Ned gave her was anguished. “You know I cannot take him south. There will be\nno place for him at court. A boy with a bastard’s name . . . you know what they will say of\nhim. He will be shunned.”\n"
## [65] "Catelyn armored her heart against the mute appeal in her husband’s eyes. “They say\nyour friend Robert has fathered a dozen bastards himself.”\n\n“And none of them has ever been seen at court!” Ned blazed. “The Lannister woman has\nseen to that. How can you be so damnably cruel, Catelyn? He is only a boy. He—”\n\nHis fury was on him. He might have said more, and worse, but Maester Luwin cut in.\n“Another solution presents itself,” he said, his voice quiet. “Your brother Benjen came to\nme about Jon a few days ago. It seems the boy aspires to take the black.”\n\nNed looked shocked. “He asked to join the Night’s Watch?”\n\nCatelyn said nothing. Let Ned work it out in his own mind; her voice would not be\nwelcome now. Yet gladly would she have kissed the maester just then. His was the\nperfect solution. Benjen Stark was a Sworn Brother. Jon would be a son to him, the child\nhe would never have. And in time the boy would take the oath as well. He would father\nno sons who might someday contest with Catelyn’s own grandchildren for Winterfell.\n\nMaester Luwin said, “There is great honor in service on the Wall, my lord.”\n\n“And even a bastard may rise high in the Night’s Watch,” Ned reflected. Still, his voice\nwas troubled. “Jon is so young. If he asked this when he was a man grown, that would be\none thing, but a boy of fourteen . . . ”\n\n“A hard sacrifice,” Maester Luwin agreed. “Yet these are hard times, my lord. His road is\nno crueler than yours or your lady’s.”\n\nCatelyn thought of the three children she must lose. It was not easy keeping silent then.\n\nNed turned away from them to gaze out the window, his long face silent and thoughtful.\nFinally he sighed, and turned back. “Very well,” he said to Maester Luwin. “I suppose it\nis for the best. I will speak to Ben.”\n\n“When shall we tell Jon?” the maester asked.\n\n“When I must. Preparations must be made. It will be a fortnight before we are ready to\ndepart. I would sooner let Jon enjoy these last few days. Summer will end soon enough,\nand childhood as well. When the time comes, I will tell him myself.”\n"
## [66] "previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [67] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n ARYA\nArya’s stitches were crooked again.\n\nShe frowned down at them with dismay and glanced over to where her sister Sansa sat\namong the other girls. Sansa’s needlework was exquisite. Everyone said so. “Sansa’s\nwork is as pretty as she is,” Septa Mordane told their lady mother once. “She has such\nfine, delicate hands.” When Lady Catelyn had asked about Arya, the septa had sniffed.\n“Arya has the hands of a blacksmith.”\n\nArya glanced furtively across the room, worried that Septa Mordane might have read her\nthoughts, but the septa was paying her no attention today. She was sitting with the\nPrincess Myrcella, all smiles and admiration. It was not often that the septa was\nprivileged to instruct a royal princess in the womanly arts, as she had said when the\nqueen brought Myrcella to join them. Arya thought that Myrcella’s stitches looked a little\ncrooked too, but you would never know it from the way Septa Mordane was cooing.\n\nShe studied her own work again, looking for some way to salvage it, then sighed and put\ndown the needle. She looked glumly at her sister. Sansa was chatting away happily as she\nworked. Beth Cassel, Ser Rodrik’s little girl, was sitting by her feet, listening to every\nword she said, and Jeyne Poole was leaning over to whisper something in her ear.\n\n“What are you talking about?” Arya asked suddenly.\n\nJeyne gave her a startled look, then giggled. Sansa looked abashed. Beth blushed. No one\nanswered.\n\n“Tell me,” Arya said.\n\nJeyne glanced over to make certain that Septa Mordane was not listening. Myrcella said\nsomething then, and the septa laughed along with the rest of the ladies.\n\n“We were talking about the prince,” Sansa said, her voice soft as a kiss.\n\nArya knew which prince she meant: Jofftey, of course. The tall, handsome one. Sansa got\nto sit with him at the feast. Arya had to sit with the little fat one. Naturally.\n"
## [68] "“Joffrey likes your sister,” Jeyne whispered, proud as if she had something to do with it.\nShe was the daughter of Winterfell’s steward and Sansa’s dearest friend. “He told her she\nwas very beautiful.”\n\n“He’s going to marry her,” little Beth said dreamily, hugging herself. “Then Sansa will be\nqueen of all the realm.”\n\nSansa had the grace to blush. She blushed prettily. She did everything prettily, Arya\nthought with dull resentment. “Beth, you shouldn’t make up stories,” Sansa corrected\nthe younger girl, gently stroking her hair to take the harshness out of her words. She\nlooked at Arya. “What did you think of Prince Joff, sister? He’s very gallant, don’t you\nthink?”\n\n“Jon says he looks like a girl,” Arya said.\n\nSansa sighed as she stitched. “Poor Jon,” she said. “He gets jealous because he’s a\nbastard.”\n\n“He’s our brother,” Arya said, much too loudly. Her voice cut through the afternoon\nquiet of the tower room.\n\nSepta Mordane raised her eyes. She had a bony face, sharp eyes, and a thin lipless mouth\nmade for frowning. It was frowning now. “What are you talking about, children?”\n\n“Our half brother,” Sansa corrected, soft and precise. She smiled for the septa. “Arya and\nI were remarking on how pleased we were to have the princess with us today,” she said.\n\nSepta Mordane nodded. “Indeed. A great honor for us all.” Princess Myrcella smiled\nuncertainly at the compliment. “Arya, why aren’t you at work?” the septa asked. She rose\nto her feet, starched skirts rustling as she started across the room. “Let me see your\nstitches.”\n\nArya wanted to scream. It was just like Sansa to go and attract the septa’s attention.\n“Here,” she said, surrendering up her work.\n\nThe septa examined the fabric. “Arya, Arya, Arya,” she said. “This will not do. This will\nnot do at all.”\n\nEveryone was looking at her. It was too much. Sansa was too well bred to smile at her\nsister’s disgrace, but Jeyne was smirking on her behalf. Even Princess Myrcella looked\nsorry for her. Arya felt tears filling her eyes. She pushed herself out of her chair and\nbolted for the door.\n"
## [69] "Septa Mordane called after her. “Arya, come back here! Don’t you take another step!\nYour lady mother will hear of this. In front of our royal princess too! You’ll shame us all!”\n\nArya stopped at the door and turned back, biting her lip. The tears were running down\nher cheeks now. She managed a stiff little bow to Myrcella. “By your leave, my lady.”\n\nMyrcella blinked at her and looked to her ladies for guidance. But if she was uncertain,\nSepta Mordane was not. “Just where do you think you are going, Arya?” the septa\ndemanded.\n\nArya glared at her. “I have to go shoe a horse,” she said sweetly, taking a brief\nsatisfaction in the shock on the septa’s face. Then she whirled and made her exit,\nrunning down the steps as fast as her feet would take her.\n\nIt wasn’t fair. Sansa had everything. Sansa was two years older; maybe by the time Arya\nhad been born, there had been nothing left. Often it felt that way. Sansa could sew and\ndance and sing. She wrote poetry. She knew how to dress. She played the high harp and\nthe bells. Worse, she was beautiful. Sansa had gotten their mother’s fine high\ncheekbones and the thick auburn hair of the Tullys. Arya took after their lord father. Her\nhair was a lusterless brown, and her face was long and solemn. Jeyne used to call her\nArya Horseface, and neigh whenever she came near. It hurt that the one thing Arya\ncould do better than her sister was ride a horse. Well, that and manage a household.\nSansa had never had much of a head for figures. If she did marry Prince Joff, Arya hoped\nfor his sake that he had a good steward.\n\nNymeria was waiting for her in the guardroom at the base of the stairs. She bounded to\nher feet as soon as she caught sight of Arya. Arya grinned. The wolf pup loved her, even\nif no one else did. They went everywhere together, and Nymeria slept in her room, at the\nfoot of her bed. If Mother had not forbidden it, Arya would gladly have taken the wolf\nwith her to needlework. Let Septa Mordane complain about her stitches then.\n\nNymeria nipped eagerly at her hand as Arya untied her. She had yellow eyes. When they\ncaught the sunlight, they gleamed like two golden coins. Arya had named her after the\nwarrior queen of the Rhoyne, who had led her people across the narrow sea. That had\nbeen a great scandal too. Sansa, of course, had named her pup “Lady.” Arya made a face\nand hugged the wolfling tight. Nymeria licked her ear, and she giggled.\n\nBy now Septa Mordane would certainly have sent word to her lady mother. If she went to\nher room, they would find her. Arya did not care to be found. She had a better notion.\nThe boys were at practice in the yard. She wanted to see Robb put gallant Prince Joffrey\nflat on his back. “Come,” she whispered to Nymeria. She got up and ran, the wolf coming\n"
## [70] "hard at her heels.\n\nThere was a window in the covered bridge between the armory and the Great Keep\nwhere you had a view of the whole yard. That was where they headed.\n\nThey arrived, flushed and breathless, to find Jon seated on the sill, one leg drawn up\nlanguidly to his chin. He was watching the action, so absorbed that he seemed unaware\nof her approach until his white wolf moved to meet them. Nymeria stalked closer on\nwary feet. Ghost, already larger than his litter mates, smelled her, gave her ear a careful\nnip, and settled back down.\n\nJon gave her a curious look. “Shouldn’t you be working on your stitches, little sister?”\n\nArya made a face at him. “I wanted to see them fight.”\n\nHe smiled. “Come here, then.”\n\nArya climbed up on the window and sat beside him, to a chorus of thuds and grunts from\nthe yard below.\n\nTo her disappointment, it was the younger boys drilling. Bran was so heavily padded he\nlooked as though he had belted on a featherbed, and Prince Tommen, who was plump to\nbegin with, seemed positively round. They were huffing and puffing and hitting at each\nother with padded wooden swords under the watchful eye of old Ser Rodrik Cassel, the\nmaster-at-arms, a great stout keg of a man with magnificent white cheek whiskers. A\ndozen spectators, man and boy, were calling out encouragement, Robb’s voice the\nloudest among them. She spotted Theon Greyjoy beside him, his black doublet\nemblazoned with the golden kraken of his House, a look of wry contempt on his face.\nBoth of the combatants were staggering. Arya judged that they had been at it awhile.\n\n“A shade more exhausting than needlework,” Jon observed.\n\n“A shade more fun than needlework,” Arya gave back at him. Jon grinned, reached over,\nand messed up her hair. Arya flushed. They had always been close. Jon had their father’s\nface, as she did. They were the only ones. Robb and Sansa and Bran and even little\nRickon all took after the Tullys, with easy smiles and fire in their hair. When Arya had\nbeen little, she had been afraid that meant that she was a bastard too. It been Jon she\nhad gone to in her fear, and Jon who had reassured her.\n\n“Why aren’t you down in the yard?” Arya asked him.\n\nHe gave her a half smile. “Bastards are not allowed to damage young princes,” he said.\n"
## [71] "“Any bruises they take in the practice yard must come from trueborn swords.”\n\n“Oh.” Arya felt abashed. She should have realized. For the second time today, Arya\nreflected that life was not fair.\n\nShe watched her little brother whack at Tommen. “I could do just as good as Bran,” she\nsaid. “He’s only seven. I’m nine.”\n\nJon looked her over with all his fourteen-year-old wisdom. “You’re too skinny,” he said.\nHe took her arm to feel her muscle. Then he sighed and shook his head. “I doubt you\ncould even lift a longsword, little sister, never mind swing one.”\n\nArya snatched back her arm and glared at him. Jon messed up her hair again. They\nwatched Bran and Tommen circle each other.\n\n“You see Prince Joffrey?” Jon asked.\n\nShe hadn’t, not at first glance, but when she looked again she found him to the back,\nunder the shade of the high stone wall. He was surrounded by men she did not\nrecognize, young squires in the livery of Lannister and Baratheon, strangers all. There\nwere a few older men among them; knights, she surmised.\n\n“Look at the arms on his surcoat,” Jon suggested.\n\nArya looked. An ornate shield had been embroidered on the prince’s padded surcoat. No\ndoubt the needlework was exquisite. The arms were divided down the middle; on one\nside was the crowned stag of the royal House, on the other the lion of Lannister.\n\n“The Lannisters are proud,” Jon observed. “You’d think the royal sigil would be\nsufficient, but no. He makes his mother’s House equal in honor to the king’s.”\n\n“The woman is important too!” Arya protested.\n\nJon chuckled. “Perhaps you should do the same thing, little sister. Wed Tully to Stark in\nyour arms.”\n\n“A wolf with a fish in its mouth?” It made her laugh. “That would look silly. Besides, if a\ngirl can’t fight, why should she have a coat of arms?”\n\nJon shrugged. “Girls get the arms but not the swords. Bastards get the swords but not\nthe arms. I did not make the rules, little sister.”\n"
## [72] "There was a shout from the courtyard below. Prince Tommen was rolling in the dust,\ntrying to get up and failing. All the padding made him look like a turtle on its back. Bran\nwas standing over him with upraised wooden sword, ready to whack him again once he\nregained his feet. The men began to laugh.\n\n“Enough!” Ser Rodrik called out. He gave the prince a hand and yanked him back to his\nfeet. “Well fought. Lew, Donnis, help them out of their armor.” He looked around.\n“Prince Joffrey, Robb, will you go another round?”\n\nRobb, already sweaty from a previous bout, moved forward eagerly. “Gladly.”\n\nJoffrey moved into the sunlight in response to Rodrik’s summons. His hair shone like\nspun gold. He looked bored. “This is a game for children, Ser Rodrik.”\n\nTheon Greyjoy gave a sudden bark of laughter. “You are children,” he said derisively.\n\n“Robb may be a child,” Joffrey said. “I am a prince. And I grow tired of swatting at\nStarks with a play sword.”\n\n“You got more swats than you gave, Joff,” Robb said. “Are you afraid?”\n\nPrince Joffrey looked at him. “Oh, terrified,” he said. “You’re so much older.” Some of\nthe Lannister men laughed.\n\nJon looked down on the scene with a frown. “Joffrey is truly a little shit,” he told Arya.\n\nSer Rodrik tugged thoughtfully at his white whiskers. “What are you suggesting?” he\nasked the prince.\n\n“Live steel.”\n\n“Done,” Robb shot back. “You’ll be sorry!”\n\nThe master-at-arms put a hand on Robb’s shoulder to quiet him. “Live steel is too\ndangerous. I will permit you tourney swords, with blunted edges.”\n\nJoffrey said nothing, but a man strange to Arya, a tall knight with black hair and burn\nscars on his face, pushed forward in front of the prince. “This is your prince. Who are\nyou to tell him he may not have an edge on his sword, ser?”\n\n“Master-at-arms of Winterfell, Clegane, and you would do well not to forget it.”\n"
## [73] "“Are you training women here?” the burned man wanted to know. He was muscled like a\nbull.\n\n“I am training knights,” Ser Rodrik said pointedly. “They will have steel when they are\nready. When they are of an age.”\n\nThe burned man looked at Robb. “How old are you, boy?”\n\n“Fourteen,” Robb said.\n\n“I killed a man at twelve. You can be sure it was not with a blunt sword.”\n\nArya could see Robb bristle. His pride was wounded. He turned on Ser Rodrik. “Let me\ndo it. I can beat him.”\n\n“Beat him with a tourney blade, then,” Ser Rodrik said.\n\nJoffrey shrugged. “Come and see me when you’re older, Stark. If you’re not too old.”\nThere was laughter from the Lannister men.\n\nRobb’s curses rang through the yard. Arya covered her mouth in shock. Theon Greyjoy\nseized Robb’s arm to keep him away from the prince. Ser Rodrik tugged at his whiskers\nin dismay.\n\nJoffrey feigned a yawn and turned to his younger brother. “Come, Tommen,” he said.\n“The hour of play is done. Leave the children to their frolics.”\n\nThat brought more laughter from the Lannisters, more curses from Robb. Ser Rodrik’s\nface was beet-red with fury under the white of his whiskers. Theon kept Robb locked in\nan iron grip until the princes and their party were safely away.\n\nJon watched them leave, and Arya watched Jon. His face had grown as still as the pool at\nthe heart of the godswood. Finally he climbed down off the window. “The show is done,”\nhe said. He bent to scratch Ghost behind the ears. The white wolf rose and rubbed\nagainst him. “You had best run back to your room, little sister. Septa Mordane will surely\nbe lurking. The longer you hide, the sterner the penance. You’ll be sewing all through\nwinter. When the spring thaw comes, they will find your body with a needle still locked\ntight between your frozen fingers.”\n\nArya didn’t think it was funny. “I hate needlework!” she said with passion. “It’s not fair!”\n"
## [74] "“Nothing is fair,” Jon said. He messed up her hair again and walked away from her,\nGhost moving silently beside him. Nymeria started to follow too, then stopped and came\nback when she saw that Arya was not coming.\n\nReluctantly she turned in the other direction.\n\nIt was worse than Jon had thought. It wasn’t Septa Mordane waiting in her room. It was\nSepta Mordane and her mother.\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [75] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n BRAN\nThe hunt left at dawn. The king wanted wild boar at the feast tonight. Prince Joffrey\nrode with his father, so Robb had been allowed to join the hunters as well. Uncle Benjen,\nJory, Theon Greyjoy, Ser Rodrik, and even the queen’s funny little brother had all ridden\nout with them. It was the last hunt, after all. On the morrow they left for the south.\n\nBran had been left behind with Jon and the girls and Rickon. But Rickon was only a\nbaby and the girls were only girls and Jon and his wolf were nowhere to be found. Bran\ndid not look for him very hard. He thought Jon was angry at him. Jon seemed to be\nangry at everyone these days. Bran did not know why. He was going with Uncle Ben to\nthe Wall, to join the Night’s Watch. That was almost as good as going south with the\nking. Robb was the one they were leaving behind, not Jon.\n\nFor days, Bran could scarcely wait to be off. He was going to ride the kingsroad on a\nhorse of his own, not a pony but a real horse. His father would be the Hand of the King,\nand they were going to live in the red castle at King’s Landing, the castle the Dragonlords\nhad built. Old Nan said there were ghosts there, and dungeons where terrible things had\nbeen done, and dragon heads on the walls. It gave Bran a shiver just to think of it, but he\nwas not afraid. How could he be afraid? His father would be with him, and the king with\nall his knights and sworn swords.\n\nBran was going to be a knight himself someday, one of the Kingsguard. Old Nan said\nthey were the finest swords in all the realm. There were only seven of them, and they\nwore white armor and had no wives or children, but lived only to serve the king. Bran\nknew all the stories. Their names were like music to him. Serwyn of the Mirror Shield.\nSer Ryam Redwyne. Prince Aemon the Dragonknight. The twins Ser Erryk and Ser\nArryk, who had died on one another’s swords hundreds of years ago, when brother\nfought sister in the war the singers called the Dance of the Dragons. The White Bull,\nGerold Hightower. Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. Barristan the Bold.\n\nTwo of the Kingsguard had come north with King Robert. Bran had watched them with\nfascination, never quite daring to speak to them. Ser Boros was a bald man with a jowly\nface, and Ser Meryn had droopy eyes and a beard the color of rust. Ser Jaime Lannister\nlooked more like the knights in the stories, and he was of the Kingsguard too, but Robb\nsaid he had killed the old mad king and shouldn’t count anymore. The greatest living\nknight was Ser Barristan Selmy, Barristan the Bold, the Lord Commander of the\n"
## [76] "Kingsguard. Father had promised that they would meet Ser Barristan when they reached\nKing’s Landing, and Bran had been marking the days on his wall, eager to depart, to see\na world he had only dreamed of and begin a life he could scarcely imagine.\n\nYet now that the last day was at hand, suddenly Bran felt lost. Winterfell had been the\nonly home he had ever known. His father had told him that he ought to say his farewells\ntoday, and he had tried. After the hunt had ridden out, he wandered through the castle\nwith his wolf at his side, intending to visit the ones who would be left behind, Old Nan\nand Gage the cook, Mikken in his smithy, Hodor the stableboy who smiled so much and\ntook care of his pony and never said anything but “Hodor,” the man in the glass gardens\nwho gave him a blackberry when he came to visit . . .\n\nBut it was no good. He had gone to the stable first, and seen his pony there in its stall,\nexcept it wasn’t his pony anymore, he was getting a real horse and leaving the pony\nbehind, and all of a sudden Bran just wanted to sit down and cry. He turned and ran off\nbefore Hodor and the other stableboys could see the tears in his eyes. That was the end\nof his farewells. Instead Bran spent the morning alone in the godswood, trying to teach\nhis wolf to fetch a stick, and failing. The wolfling was smarter than any of the hounds in\nhis father’s kennel and Bran would have sworn he understood every word that was said\nto him, but he showed very little interest in chasing sticks.\n\nHe was still trying to decide on a name. Robb was calling his Grey Wind, because he ran\nso fast. Sansa had named hers Lady, and Arya named hers after some old witch queen in\nthe songs, and little Rickon called his Shaggydog, which Bran thought was a pretty\nstupid name for a direwolf. Jon’s wolf, the white one, was Ghost. Bran wished he had\nthought of that first, even though his wolf wasn’t white. He had tried a hundred names\nin the last fortnight, but none of them sounded right.\n\nFinally he got tired of the stick game and decided to go climbing. He hadn’t been up to\nthe broken tower for weeks with everything that had happened, and this might be his\nlast chance.\n\nHe raced across the godswood, taking the long way around to avoid the pool where the\nheart tree grew. The heart tree had always frightened him; trees ought not have eyes,\nBran thought, or leaves that looked like hands. His wolf came sprinting at his heels. “You\nstay here,” he told him at the base of the sentinel tree near the armory wall. “Lie down.\nThat’s right. Now stay—”\n\nThe wolf did as he was told. Bran scratched him behind the ears, then turned away,\njumped, grabbed a low branch, and pulled himself up. He was halfway up the tree,\nmoving easily from limb to limb, when the wolf got to his feet and began to howl.\n"
## [77] "Bran looked back down. His wolf fell silent, staring up at him through slitted yellow\neyes. A strange chill went through him. He began to climb again. Once more the wolf\nhowled. “Quiet,” he yelled. “Sit down. Stay. You’re worse than Mother.” The howling\nchased him all the way up the tree, until finally he jumped off onto the armory roof and\nout of sight.\n\nThe rooftops of Winterfell were Bran’s second home. His mother often said that Bran\ncould climb before he could walk. Bran could not remember when he first learned to\nwalk, but he could not remember when he started to climb either, so he supposed it must\nbe true.\n\nTo a boy, Winterfell was a grey stone labyrinth of walls and towers and courtyards and\ntunnels spreading out in all directions. In the older parts of the castle, the halls slanted\nup and down so that you couldn’t even be sure what floor you were on. The place had\ngrown over the centuries like some monstrous stone tree, Maester Luwin told him once,\nand its branches were gnarled and thick and twisted, its roots sunk deep into the earth.\n\nWhen he got out from under it and scrambled up near the sky, Bran could see all of\nWinterfell in a glance. He liked the way it looked, spread out beneath him, only birds\nwheeling over his head while all the life of the castle went on below. Bran could perch for\nhours among the shapeless, rain-worn gargoyles that brooded over the First Keep,\nwatching it all: the men drilling with wood and steel in the yard, the cooks tending their\nvegetables in the glass garden, restless dogs running back and forth in the kennels, the\nsilence of the godswood, the girls gossiping beside the washing well. It made him feel\nlike he was lord of the castle, in a way even Robb would never know.\n\nIt taught him Winterfell’s secrets too. The builders had not even leveled the earth; there\nwere hills and valleys behind the walls of Winterfell. There was a covered bridge that\nwent from the fourth floor of the bell tower across to the second floor of the rookery.\nBran knew about that. And he knew you could get inside the inner wall by the south gate,\nclimb three floors and run all the way around Winterfell through a narrow tunnel in the\nstone, and then come out on ground level at the north gate, with a hundred feet of wall\nlooming over you. Even Maester Luwin didn’t know that, Bran was convinced.\n\nHis mother was terrified that one day Bran would slip off a wall and kill himself. He told\nher that he wouldn’t, but she never believed him. Once she made him promise that he\nwould stay on the ground. He had managed to keep that promise for almost a fortnight,\nmiserable every day, until one night he had gone out the window of his bedroom when\nhis brothers were fast asleep.\n\nHe confessed his crime the next day in a fit of guilt. Lord Eddard ordered him to the\ngodswood to cleanse himself. Guards were posted to see that Bran remained there alone\n"
## [78] "all night to reflect on his disobedience. The next morning Bran was nowhere to be seen.\nThey finally found him fast asleep in the upper branches of the tallest sentinel in the\ngrove.\n\nAs angry as he was, his father could not help but laugh. “You’re not my son,” he told\nBran when they fetched him down, “you’re a squirrel. So be it. If you must climb, then\nclimb, but try not to let your mother see you.”\n\nBran did his best, although he did not think he ever really fooled her. Since his father\nwould not forbid it, she turned to others. Old Nan told him a story about a bad little boy\nwho climbed too high and was struck down by lightning, and how afterward the crows\ncame to peck out his eyes. Bran was not impressed. There were crows’ nests atop the\nbroken tower, where no one ever went but him, and sometimes he filled his pockets with\ncorn before he climbed up there and the crows ate it right out of his hand. None of them\nhad ever shown the slightest bit of interest in pecking out his eyes.\n\nLater, Maester Luwin built a little pottery boy and dressed him in Bran’s clothes and\nflung him off the wall into the yard below, to demonstrate what would happen to Bran if\nhe fell. That had been fun, but afterward Bran just looked at the maester and said, “I’m\nnot made of clay. And anyhow, I never fall.”\n\nThen for a while the guards would chase him whenever they saw him on the roofs, and\ntry to haul him down. That was the best time of all. It was like playing a game with his\nbrothers, except that Bran always won. None of the guards could climb half so well as\nBran, not even Jory. Most of the time they never saw him anyway. People never looked\nup. That was another thing he liked about climbing; it was almost like being invisible.\n\nHe liked how it felt too, pulling himself up a wall stone by stone, fingers and toes digging\nhard into the small crevices between. He always took off his boots and went barefoot\nwhen he climbed; it made him feel as if he had four hands instead of two. He liked the\ndeep, sweet ache it left in the muscles afterward. He liked the way the air tasted way up\nhigh, sweet and cold as a winter peach. He liked the birds: the crows in the broken\ntower, the tiny little sparrows that nested in cracks between the stones, the ancient owl\nthat slept in the dusty loft above the old armory. Bran knew them all.\n\nMost of all, he liked going places that no one else could go, and seeing the grey sprawl of\nWinterfell in a way that no one else ever saw it. It made the whole castle Bran’s secret\nplace.\n\nHis favorite haunt was the broken tower. Once it had been a watchtower, the tallest in\nWinterfell. A long time ago, a hundred years before even his father had been born, a\nlightning strike had set it afire. The top third of the structure had collapsed inward, and\n"
## [79] "the tower had never been rebuilt. Sometimes his father sent ratters into the base of the\ntower, to clean out the nests they always found among the jumble of fallen stones and\ncharred and rotten beams. But no one ever got up to the jagged top of the structure now\nexcept for Bran and the crows.\n\nHe knew two ways to get there. You could climb straight up the side of the tower itself,\nbut the stones were loose, the mortar that held them together long gone to ash, and Bran\nnever liked to put his full weight on them.\n\nThe best way was to start from the godswood, shinny up the tall sentinel, and cross over\nthe armory and the guards hall, leaping roof to roof, barefoot so the guards wouldn’t\nhear you overhead. That brought you up to the blind side of the First Keep, the oldest\npart of the castle, a squat round fortress that was taller than it looked. Only rats and\nspiders lived there now but the old stones still made for good climbing. You could go\nstraight up to where the gargoyles leaned out blindly over empty space, and swing from\ngargoyle to gargoyle, hand over hand, around to the north side. From there, if you really\nstretched, you could reach out and pull yourself over to the broken tower where it leaned\nclose. The last part was the scramble up the blackened stones to the eyrie, no more than\nten feet, and then the crows would come round to see if you’d brought any corn.\n\nBran was moving from gargoyle to gargoyle with the ease of long practice when he heard\nthe voices. He was so startled he almost lost his grip. The First Keep had been empty all\nhis life.\n\n“I do not like it,” a woman was saying. There was a row of windows beneath him, and the\nvoice was drifting out of the last window on this side. “You should be the Hand.”\n\n“Gods forbid,” a man’s voice replied lazily. “It’s not an honor I’d want. There’s far too\nmuch work involved.”\n\nBran hung, listening, suddenly afraid to go on. They might glimpse his feet if he tried to\nswing by.\n\n“Don’t you see the danger this puts us in?” the woman said. “Robert loves the man like a\nbrother.”\n\n“Robert can barely stomach his brothers. Not that I blame him. Stannis would be enough\nto give anyone indigestion.”\n\n“Don’t play the fool. Stannis and Renly are one thing, and Eddard Stark is quite another.\nRobert will listen to Stark. Damn them both. I should have insisted that he name you,\nbut I was certain Stark would refuse him.”\n"
## [80] "“We ought to count ourselves fortunate,” the man said. “The king might as easily have\nnamed one of his brothers, or even Littlefinger, gods help us. Give me honorable\nenemies rather than ambitious ones, and I’ll sleep more easily by night.”\n\nThey were talking about Father, Bran realized. He wanted to hear more. A few more\nfeet . . . but they would see him if he swung out in front of the window.\n\n“We will have to watch him carefully,” the woman said.\n\n“I would sooner watch you,” the man said. He sounded bored. “Come back here.”\n\n“Lord Eddard has never taken any interest in anything that happened south of the\nNeck,” the woman said. “Never. I tell you, he means to move against us. Why else would\nhe leave the seat of his power?”\n\n“A hundred reasons. Duty. Honor. He yearns to write his name large across the book of\nhistory, to get away from his wife, or both. Perhaps he just wants to be warm for once in\nhis life.”\n\n“His wife is Lady Arryn’s sister. It’s a wonder Lysa was not here to greet us with her\naccusations.”\n\nBran looked down. There was a narrow ledge beneath the window, only a few inches\nwide. He tried to lower himself toward it. Too far. He would never reach.\n\n“You fret too much. Lysa Arryn is a frightened cow.”\n\n“That frightened cow shared Jon Arryn’s bed.”\n\n“If she knew anything, she would have gone to Robert before she fled King’s Landing.”\n\n“When he had already agreed to foster that weakling son of hers at Casterly Rock? I\nthink not. She knew the boy’s life would be hostage to her silence. She may grow bolder\nnow that he’s safe atop the Eyrie.”\n\n“Mothers.” The man made the word sound like a curse. “I think birthing does something\nto your minds. You are all mad.” He laughed. It was a bitter sound. “Let Lady Arryn grow\nas bold as she likes. Whatever she knows, whatever she thinks she knows, she has no\nproof.” He paused a moment. “Or does she?”\n\n“Do you think the king will require proof?” the woman said. “I tell you, he loves me not.”\n"
## [81] "“And whose fault is that, sweet sister?”\n\nBran studied the ledge. He could drop down. It was too narrow to land on, but if he\ncould catch hold as he fell past, pull himself up . . . except that might make a noise, draw\nthem to the window. He was not sure what he was hearing, but he knew it was not meant\nfor his ears.\n\n“You are as blind as Robert,” the woman was saying.\n\n“If you mean I see the same thing, yes,” the man said. “I see a man who would sooner die\nthan betray his king.”\n\n“He betrayed one already, or have you forgotten?” the woman said. “Oh, I don’t deny\nhe’s loyal to Robert, that’s obvious. What happens when Robert dies and Joff takes the\nthrone? And the sooner that comes to pass, the safer we’ll all be. My husband grows\nmore restless every day. Having Stark beside him will only make him worse. He’s still in\nlove with the sister, the insipid little dead sixteen-year-old. How long till he decides to\nput me aside for some new Lyanna?”\n\nBran was suddenly very frightened. He wanted nothing so much as to go back the way he\nhad come, to find his brothers. Only what would he tell them? He had to get closer, Bran\nrealized. He had to see who was talking.\n\nThe man sighed. “You should think less about the future and more about the pleasures\nat hand.”\n\n“Stop that!” the woman said. Bran heard the sudden slap of flesh on flesh, then the\nman’s laughter.\n\nBran pulled himself up, climbed over the gargoyle, crawled out onto the roof. This was\nthe easy way. He moved across the roof to the next gargoyle, right above the window of\nthe room where they were talking.\n\n“All this talk is getting very tiresome, sister,” the man said. “Come here and be quiet.”\n\nBran sat astride the gargoyle, tightened his legs around it, and swung himself around,\nupside down. He hung by his legs and slowly stretched his head down toward the\nwindow. The world looked strange upside down. A courtyard swam dizzily below him, its\nstones still wet with melted snow.\n"
## [82] "Bran looked in the window.\n\nInside the room, a man and a woman were wrestling. They were both naked. Bran could\nnot tell who they were. The man’s back was to him, and his body screened the woman\nfrom view as he pushed her up against a wall.\n\nThere were soft, wet sounds. Bran realized they were kissing. He watched, wide-eyed\nand frightened, his breath tight in his throat. The man had a hand down between her\nlegs, and he must have been hurting her there, because the woman started to moan, low\nin her throat. “Stop it,” she said, “stop it, stop it. Oh, please . . . ” But her voice was low\nand weak, and she did not push him away. Her hands buried themselves in his hair, his\ntangled golden hair, and pulled his face down to her breast.\n\nBran saw her face. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was open, moaning. Her golden\nhair swung from side to side as her head moved back and forth, but still he recognized\nthe queen.\n\nHe must have made a noise. Suddenly her eyes opened, and she was staring right at him.\nShe screamed.\n\nEverything happened at once then. ‘ The woman pushed the man away wildly, shouting\nand pointing. Bran tried to pull himself up, bending double as he reached for the\ngargoyle. He was in too much of a hurry. His hand scraped uselessly across smooth\nstone, and in his panic his legs slipped, and suddenly he was failing. There was an\ninstant of vertigo, a sickening lurch as the window flashed past. He shot out a hand,\ngrabbed for the ledge, lost it, caught it again with his other hand. He swung against the\nbuilding, hard. The impact took the breath out of him. Bran dangled, one-handed,\npanting.\n\nFaces appeared in the window above him.\n\nThe queen. And now Bran recognized the man beside her. They looked as much alike as\nreflections in a mirror.\n\n“He saw us,” the woman said shrilly.\n\n“So he did,” the man said.\n\nBran’s fingers started to slip. He grabbed the ledge with his other hand. Fingernails dug\ninto unyielding stone. The man reached down. “Take my hand,” he said. “Before you fall.”\n\nBran seized his arm and held on tight with all his strength. The man yanked him up to\n"
## [83] "the ledge. “What are you doing?” the woman demanded.\n\nThe man ignored her. He was very strong. He stood Bran up on the sill. “How old are\nyou, boy?”\n\n“Seven,” Bran said, shaking with relief. His fingers had dug deep gouges in the man’s\nforearm. He let go sheepishly.\n\nThe man looked over at the woman. “The things I do for love,” he said with loathing. He\ngave Bran a shove.\n\nScreaming, Bran went backward out the window into empty air. There was nothing to\ngrab on to. The courtyard rushed up to meet him.\n\nSomewhere off in the distance, a wolf was howling. Crows circled the broken tower,\nwaiting for corn.\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [84] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n TYRION\nSomewhere in the great stone maze of Winterfell, a wolf howled. The sound hung over\nthe castle like a flag of mourning.\n\nTyrion Lannister looked up from his books and shivered, though the library was snug\nand warm. Something about the howling of a wolf took a man right out of his here and\nnow and left him in a dark forest of the mind, running naked before the pack.\n\nWhen the direwolf howled again, Tyrion shut the heavy leatherbound cover on the book\nhe was reading, a hundred-year-old discourse on the changing of the seasons by a long-\ndead maester. He covered a yawn with the back of his hand. His reading lamp was\nflickering, its oil all but gone, as dawn light leaked through the high windows. He had\nbeen at it all night, but that was nothing new. Tyrion Lannister was not much a one for\nsleeping.\n\nHis legs were stiff and sore as he eased down off the bench. He massaged some life back\ninto them and limped heavily to the table where the septon was snoring softly, his head\npillowed on an open book in front of him. Tyrion glanced at the title. A life of the Grand\nMaester Aethelmure, no wonder. “Chayle,” he said softly. The young man jerked up,\nblinking, confused, the crystal of his order swinging wildly on its silver chain. “I’m off to\nbreak my fast. See that you return the books to the shelves. Be gentle with the Valyrian\nscrolls, the parchment is very dry. Ayrmidon’s Engines of War is quite rare, and yours is\nthe only complete copy I’ve ever seen.” Chayle gaped at him, still half-asleep. Patiently,\nTyrion repeated his instructions, then clapped the septon on the shoulder and left him to\nhis tasks.\n\nOutside, Tyrion swallowed a lungful of the cold morning air and began his laborious\ndescent of the steep stone steps that corkscrewed around the exterior of the library\ntower. It was slow going; the steps were cut high and narrow, while his legs were short\nand twisted. The rising sun had not yet cleared the walls of Winterfell, but the men were\nalready hard at it in the yard below. Sandor Clegane’s rasping voice drifted up to him.\n“The boy is a long time dying. I wish he would be quicker about it.”\n\nTyrion glanced down and saw the Hound standing with young Joffrey as squires\nswarmed around them. “At least he dies quietly,” the prince replied. “It’s the wolf that\nmakes the noise. I could scarce sleep last night.”\n"
## [85] "Clegane cast a long shadow across the hard-packed earth as his squire lowered the black\nhelm over his head. “I could silence the creature, if it please you,” he said through his\nopen visor. His boy placed a longsword in his hand. He tested the weight of it, slicing at\nthe cold morning air. Behind him, the yard rang to the clangor of steel on steel.\n\nThe notion seemed to delight the prince. “Send a dog to kill a dog!” he exclaimed.\n“Winterfell is so infested with wolves, the Starks would never miss one.”\n\nTyrion hopped off the last step onto the yard. “I beg to differ, nephew,” he said. “The\nStarks can count past six. Unlike some princes I might name.”\n\nJoffrey had the grace at least to blush.\n\n“A voice from nowhere,” Sandor said. He peered through his helm, looking this way and\nthat. “Spirits of the air!”\n\nThe prince laughed, as he always laughed when his bodyguard did this mummer’s farce.\nTyrion was used to it. “Down here.”\n\nThe tall man peered down at the ground, and pretended to notice him. “The little lord\nTyrion,” he said. “My pardons. I did not see you standing there.”\n\n“I am in no mood for your insolence today.” Tyrion turned to his nephew. “Joffrey, it is\npast time you called on Lord Eddard and his lady, to offer them your comfort.”\n\nJoffrey looked as petulant as only a boy prince can look. “What good will my comfort do\nthem?”\n\n“None,” Tyrion said. “Yet it is expected of you. Your absence has been noted.”\n\n“The Stark boy is nothing to me,” Joffrey said. “I cannot abide the wailing of women.”\n\nTyrion Lannister reached up and slapped his nephew hard across the face. The boy’s\ncheek began to redden.\n\n“One word,” Tyrion said, “and I will hit you again.”\n\n“I’m going to tell Mother!” Joffrey exclaimed.\n\nTyrion hit him again. Now both cheeks flamed.\n"
## [86] "“You tell your mother,” Tyrion told him. “But first you get yourself to Lord and Lady\nStark, and you fall to your knees in front of them, and you tell them how very sorry you\nare, and that you are at their service if there is the slightest thing you can do for them or\ntheirs in this desperate hour, and that all your prayers go with them. Do you\nunderstand? Do you?”\n\nThe boy looked as though he was going to cry. Instead, he managed a weak nod. Then he\nturned and fled headlong from the yard, holding his cheek. Tyrion watched him run.\n\nA shadow fell across his face. He turned to find Clegane looming overhead like a cliff.\nHis soot-dark armor seemed to blot out the sun. He had lowered the visor on his helm. It\nwas fashioned in the likeness of a snarling black hound, fearsome to behold, but Tyrion\nhad always thought it a great improvement over Clegane’s hideously burned face.\n\n“The prince will remember that, little lord,” the Hound warned him. The helm turned his\nlaugh into a hollow rumble.\n\n“I pray he does,” Tyrion Lannister replied. “If he forgets, be a good dog and remind\nhim.” He glanced around the courtyard. “Do you know where I might find my brother?”\n\n“Breaking fast with the queen.”\n\n“Ah,” Tyrion said. He gave Sandor Clegane a perfunctory nod and walked away as briskly\nas his stunted legs would carry him, whistling. He pitied the first knight to try the Hound\ntoday. The man did have a temper.\n\nA cold, cheerless meal had been laid out in the morning room of the Guest House. Jaime\nsat at table with Cersei and the children, talking in low, hushed voices.\n\n“Is Robert still abed?” Tyrion asked as he seated himself, uninvited, at the table.\n\nHis sister peered at him with the same expression of faint distaste she had worn since\nthe day he was born. “The king has not slept at all,” she told him. “He is with Lord\nEddard. He has taken their sorrow deeply to heart.”\n\n“He has a large heart, our Robert,” Jaime said with a lazy smile. There was very little\nthat Jaime took seriously. Tyrion knew that about his brother, and forgave it. During all\nthe terrible long years of his childhood, only Jaime had ever shown him the smallest\nmeasure of affection or respect, and for that Tyrion was willing to forgive him most\nanything.\n\nA servant approached. “Bread,” Tyrion told him, “and two of those little fish, and a mug\n"
## [87] "of that good dark beer to wash them down. Oh, and some bacon. Burn it until it turns\nblack.” The man bowed and moved off. Tyrion turned back to his siblings. Twins, male\nand female. They looked very much the part this morning. Both had chosen a deep green\nthat matched their eyes. Their blond curls were all a fashionable tumble, and gold\nornaments shone at wrists and fingers and throats.\n\nTyrion wondered what it would be like to have a twin, and decided that he would rather\nnot know. Bad enough to face himself in a looking glass every day. Another him was a\nthought too dreadful to contemplate.\n\nPrince Tommen spoke up. “Do you have news of Bran, Uncle?”\n\n“I stopped by the sickroom last night,” Tyrion announced. “There was no change. The\nmaester thought that a hopeful sign.”\n\n“I don’t want Brandon to die,” Tommen said timorously. He was a sweet boy. Not like\nhis brother, but then Jaime and Tyrion were somewhat less than peas in a pod\nthemselves.\n\n“Lord Eddard had a brother named Brandon as well,” Jaime mused. “One of the\nhostages murdered by Targaryen. It seems to be an unlucky name.”\n\n“Oh, not so unlucky as all that, surely,” Tyrion said. The servant brought his plate. He\nripped off a chunk of black bread.\n\nCersei was studying him warily. “What do you mean?”\n\nTyrion gave her a crooked smile. “Why, only that Tommen may get his wish. The\nmaester thinks the boy may yet live.” He took a sip of beer.\n\nMyrcella gave a happy gasp, and Tommen smiled nervously, but it was not the children\nTyrion was watching. The glance that passed between Jaime and Cersei lasted no more\nthan a second, but he did not miss it. Then his sister dropped her gaze to the table. “That\nis no mercy. These northern gods are cruel to let the child linger in such pain.”\n\n“What were the maester’s words?” Jaime asked.\n\nThe bacon crunched when he bit into it. Tyrion chewed thoughtfully for a moment and\nsaid, “He thinks that if the boy were going to die, he would have done so already. It has\nbeen four days with no change.”\n"
## [88] "“Will Bran get better, Uncle?” little Myrcella asked. She had all of her mother’s beauty,\nand none of her nature.\n\n“His back is broken, little one,” Tyrion told her. “The fall shattered his legs as well. They\nkeep him alive with honey and water, or he would starve to death. Perhaps, if he wakes,\nhe will be able to eat real food, but he will never walk again.”\n\n“If he wakes,” Cersei repeated. “Is that likely?”\n\n“The gods alone know,” Tyrion told her. “The maester only hopes.” He chewed some\nmore bread. “I would swear that wolf of his is keeping the boy alive. The creature is\noutside his window day and night, howling. Every time they chase it away, it returns.\nThe maester said they closed the window once, to shut out the noise, and Bran seemed\nto weaken. When they opened it again, his heart beat stronger.”\n\nThe queen shuddered. “There is something unnatural about those animals,” she said.\n“They are dangerous. I will not have any of them coming south with us.”\n\nJaime said, “You’ll have a hard time stopping them, sister. They follow those girls\neverywhere.”\n\nTyrion started on his fish. “Are you leaving soon, then?”\n\n“Not near soon enough,” Cersei said. Then she frowned. “Are we leaving?” she echoed.\n“What about you? Gods, don’t tell me you are staying here?”\n\nTyrion shrugged. “Benjen Stark is returning to the Night’s Watch with his brother’s\nbastard. I have a mind to go with them and see this Wall we have all heard so much of.”\n\nJaime smiled. “I hope you’re not thinking of taking the black on us, sweet brother.”\n\nTyrion laughed. “What, me, celibate? The whores would go begging from Dorne to\nCasterly Rock. No, I just want to stand on top of the Wall and piss off the edge of the\nworld.”\n\nCersei stood abruptly. “The children don’t need to hear this filth. Tommen, Myrcella,\ncome.” She strode briskly from the morning room, her train and her pups trailing behind\nher.\n\nJaime Lannister regarded his brother thoughtfully with those cool green eyes. “Stark will\nnever consent to leave Winterfell with his son lingering in the shadow of death.”\n"
## [89] "“He will if Robert commands it,” Tyrion said. “And Robert will command it. There is\nnothing Lord Eddard can do for the boy in any case.”\n\n“He could end his torment,” Jaime said. “I would, if it were my son. It would be a mercy.”\n\n“I advise against putting that suggestion to Lord Eddard, sweet brother,” Tyrion said.\n“He would not take it kindly.”\n\n“Even if the boy does live, he will be a cripple. Worse than a cripple. A grotesque. Give\nme a good clean death.”\n\nTyrion replied with a shrug that accentuated the twist of his shoulders. “Speaking for the\ngrotesques,” he said, “I beg to differ. Death is so terribly final, while life is full of\npossibilities.”\n\nJaime smiled. “You are a perverse little imp, aren’t you?”\n\n“Oh, yes,” Tyrion admitted. “I hope the boy does wake. I would be most interested to\nhear what he might have to say.”\n\nHis brother’s smile curdled like sour milk. “Tyrion, my sweet brother,” he said darkly,\n“there are times when you give me cause to wonder whose side you are on.”\n\nTyrion’s mouth was full of bread and fish. He took a swallow of strong black beer to\nwash it all down, and grinned up wolfishly at Jaime, “Why, Jaime, my sweet brother,” he\nsaid, “you wound me. You know how much I love my family.”\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [90] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n JON\nJon climbed the steps slowly, trying not to think that this might be the last time ever.\nGhost padded silently beside him. Outside, snow swirled through the castle gates, and\nthe yard was all noise and chaos, but inside the thick stone walls it was still warm and\nquiet. Too quiet for Jon’s liking.\n\nHe reached the landing and stood for a long moment, afraid. Ghost nuzzled at his hand.\nHe took courage from that. He straightened, and entered the room.\n\nLady Stark was there beside his bed. She had been there, day and night, for close on a\nfortnight. Not for a moment had she left Bran’s side. She had her meals brought to her\nthere, and chamber pots as well, and a small hard bed to sleep on, though it was said she\nhad scarcely slept at all. She fed him herself, the honey and water and herb mixture that\nsustained life. Not once did she leave the room. So Jon had stayed away.\n\nBut now there was no more time.\n\nHe stood in the door for a moment, afraid to speak, afraid to come closer. The window\nwas open. Below, a wolf howled. Ghost heard and lifted his head.\n\nLady Stark looked over. For a moment she did not seem to recognize him. Finally she\nblinked. “What are you doing here?” she asked in a voice strangely flat and emotionless.\n\n“I came to see Bran,” Jon said. “To say good-bye.”\n\nHer face did not change. Her long auburn hair was dull and tangled. She looked as\nthough she had aged twenty years. “You’ve said it. Now go away.”\n\nPart of him wanted only to flee, but he knew that if he did he might never see Bran again.\nHe took a nervous step into the room. “Please,” he said.\n\nSomething cold moved in her eyes. “I told you to leave,” she said. “We don’t want you\nhere.”\n\nOnce that would have sent him running. Once that might even have made him cry. Now\nit only made him angry. He would be a Sworn Brother of the Night’s Watch soon, and\n"
## [91] "face worse dangers than Catelyn Tully Stark. “He’s my brother,” he said.\n\n“Shall I call the guards?”\n\n“Call them,” Jon said, defiant. “You can’t stop me from seeing him.” He crossed the\nroom, keeping the bed between them, and looked down on Bran where he lay.\n\nShe was holding one of his hands. It looked like a claw. This was not the Bran he\nremembered. The flesh had all gone from him. His skin stretched tight over bones like\nsticks. Under the blanket, his legs bent in ways that made Jon sick. His eyes were sunken\ndeep into black pits; open, but they saw nothing. The fall had shrunken him somehow.\nHe looked half a leaf, as if the first strong wind would carry him off to his grave.\n\nYet under the frail cage of those shattered ribs, his chest rose and fell with each shallow\nbreath.\n\n“Bran,” he said, “I’m sorry I didn’t come before. I was afraid.” He could feel the tears\nrolling down his cheeks. Jon no longer cared. “Don’t die, Bran. Please. We’re all waiting\nfor you to wake up. Me and Robb and the girls, everyone . . . ”\n\nLady Stark was watching. She had not raised a cry. Jon took that for acceptance. Outside\nthe window, the direwolf howled again. The wolf that Bran had not had time to name.\n\n“I have to go now,” Jon said. “Uncle Benjen is waiting. I’m to go north to the Wall. We\nhave to leave today, before the snows come.” He remembered how excited Bran had\nbeen at the prospect of the journey. It was more than he could bear, the thought of\nleaving him behind like this. Jon brushed away his tears, leaned over, and kissed his\nbrother lightly on the lips.\n\n“I wanted him to stay here with me,” Lady Stark said softly.\n\nJon watched her, wary. She was not even looking at him. She was talking to him, but for\na part of her, it was as though he were not even in the room.\n\n“I prayed for it,” she said dully. “He was my special boy. I went to the sept and prayed\nseven times to the seven faces of god that Ned would change his mind and leave him\nhere with me. Sometimes prayers are answered.”\n\nJon did not know what to say. “It wasn’t your fault,” he managed after an awkward\nsilence.\n"
## [92] "Her eyes found him. They were full of poison. “I need none of your absolution, bastard.”\n\nJon lowered his eyes. She was cradling one of Bran’s hands. He took the other, squeezed\nit. Fingers like the bones of birds. “Good-bye,” he said.\n\nHe was at the door when she called out to him. “Jon,” she said. He should have kept\ngoing, but she had never called him by his name before. He turned to find her looking at\nhis face, as if she were seeing it for the first time.\n\n“Yes?” he said.\n\n“It should have been you,” she told him. Then she turned back to Bran and began to\nweep, her whole body shaking with the sobs. Jon had never seen her cry before.\n\nIt was a long walk down to the yard.\n\nOutside, everything was noise and confusion. Wagons were being loaded, men were\nshouting, horses were being harnessed and saddled and led from the stables. A light\nsnow had begun to fall, and everyone was in an uproar to be off.\n\nRobb was in the middle of it, shouting commands with the best of them. He seemed to\nhave grown of late, as if Bran’s fall and his mother’s collapse had somehow made him\nstronger. Grey Wind was at his side.\n\n“Uncle Benjen is looking for you,” he told Jon. “He wanted to be gone an hour ago.”\n\n“I know,” Jon said. “Soon.” He looked around at all the noise and confusion. “Leaving is\nharder than I thought.”\n\n“For me too,” Robb said. He had snow in his hair, melting from the heat of his body.\n“Did you see him?”\n\nJon nodded, not trusting himself to speak.\n\n“He’s not going to die,” Robb said. “I know it.”\n\n“You Starks are hard to kill,” Jon agreed. His voice was flat and tired. The visit had taken\nall the strength from him.\n\nRobb knew something was wrong. “My mother . . . ”\n"
## [93] "“She was . . . very kind,” Jon told him.\n\nRobb looked relieved. “Good.” He smiled. “The next time I see you, you’ll be all in black.”\n\nJon forced himself to smile back. “It was always my color. How long do you think it will\nbe?”\n\n“Soon enough,” Robb promised. He pulled Jon to him and embraced him fiercely.\n“Farewell, Snow.”\n\nJon hugged him back. “And you, Stark. Take care of Bran.”\n\n“I will.” They broke apart and looked at each other awkwardly. “Uncle Benjen said to\nsend you to the stables if I saw you,” Robb finally said.\n\n“I have one more farewell to make,” Jon told him.\n\n“Then I haven’t seen you,” Robb replied. Jon left him standing there in the snow,\nsurrounded by wagons and wolves and horses. It was a short walk to the armory. He\npicked up his package and took the covered bridge across to the Keep.\n\nArya was in her room, packing a polished ironwood chest that was bigger than she was.\nNymeria was helping. Arya would only have to point, and the wolf would bound across\nthe room, snatch up some wisp of silk in her jaws, and fetch it back. But when she\nsmelled Ghost, she sat down on her haunches and yelped at them.\n\nArya glanced behind her, saw Jon, and jumped to her feet. She threw her skinny arms\ntight around his neck. “I was afraid you were gone,” she said, her breath catching in her\nthroat. “They wouldn’t let me out to say good-bye.”\n\n“What did you do now?” Jon was amused.\n\nArya disentangled herself from him and made a face. “Nothing. I was all packed and\neverything.” She gestured at the huge chest, no more than a third full, and at the clothes\nthat were scattered all over the room. “Septa Mordane says I have to do it all over. My\nthings weren’t properly folded, she says. A proper southron lady doesn’t just throw her\nclothes inside her chest like old rags, she says.”\n\n“Is that what you did, little sister?”\n\n“Well, they’re going to get all messed up anyway,” she said. “Who cares how they’re\n"
## [94] "folded?”\n\n“Septa Mordane,” Jon told her. “I don’t think she’d like Nymeria helping, either.” The\nshe-wolf regarded him silently with her dark golden eyes. “It’s just as well. I have\nsomething for you to take with you, and it has to be packed very carefully.”\n\nHer face lit up. “A present?”\n\n“You could call it that. Close the door.”\n\nWary but excited, Arya checked the hall. “Nymeria, here. Guard.” She left the wolf out\nthere to warn of intruders and closed the door. By then Jon had pulled off the rags he’d\nwrapped it in. He held it out to her.\n\nArya’s eyes went wide. Dark eyes, like his. “A sword,” she said in a small, hushed breath.\n\nThe scabbard was soft grey leather, supple as sin. Jon drew out the blade slowly, so she\ncould see the deep blue sheen of the steel. “This is no toy,” he told her. “Be careful you\ndon’t cut yourself. The edges are sharp enough to shave with.”\n\n“Girls don’t shave,” Arya said.\n\n“Maybe they should. Have you ever seen the septa’s legs?”\n\nShe giggled at him. “It’s so skinny.”\n\n“So are you,” Jon told her. “I had Mikken make this special. The bravos use swords like\nthis in Pentos and Myr and the other Free Cities. It won’t hack a man’s head off, but it\ncan poke him full of holes if you’re fast enough.”\n\n“I can be fast,” Arya said.\n\n“You’ll have to work at it every day.” He put the sword in her hands, showed her how to\nhold it, and stepped back. “How does it feel? Do you like the balance?”\n\n“I think so,” Arya said.\n\n“First lesson,” Jon said. “Stick them with the pointy end.”\n\nArya gave him a whap on the arm with the flat of her blade. The blow stung, but Jon\nfound himself grinning like an idiot. “I know which end to use,” Arya said. A doubtful\n"
## [95] "look crossed her face. “Septa Mordane will take it away from me.”\n\n“Not if she doesn’t know you have it,” Jon said.\n\n“Who will I practice with?”\n\n“You’ll find someone,” Jon promised her. “King’s Landing is a true city, a thousand times\nthe size of Winterfell. Until you find a partner, watch how they fight in the yard. Run,\nand ride, make yourself strong. And whatever you do . . . ”\n\nArya knew what was coming next. They said it together.\n\n“ . . . don’t . . . tell . . . Sansa!”\n\nJon messed up her hair. “I will miss you, little sister.”\n\nSuddenly she looked like she was going to cry. “I wish you were coming with us.”\n\n“Different roads sometimes lead to the same castle. Who knows?” He was feeling better\nnow. He was not going to let himself be sad. “I better go. I’ll spend my first year on the\nWall emptying chamber pots if I keep Uncle Ben waiting any longer.”\n\nArya ran to him for a last hug. “Put down the sword first,” Jon warned her, laughing. She\nset it aside almost shyly and showered him with kisses.\n\nWhen he turned back at the door, she was holding it again, trying it for balance. “I\nalmost forgot,” he told her. “All the best swords have names.”\n\n“Like Ice,” she said. She looked at the blade in her hand. “Does this have a name? Oh,\ntell me.”\n\n“Can’t you guess?” Jon teased. “Your very favorite thing.”\n\nArya seemed puzzled at first. Then it came to her. She was that quick. They said it\ntogether:\n\n“Needle!”\n\nThe memory of her laughter warmed him on the long ride north.\n"
## [96] "previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [97] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n DAENERYS\nDaenerys Targaryen wed Khal Drogo with fear and barbaric splendor in a field beyond\nthe walls of Pentos, for the Dothraki believed that all things of importance in a man’s life\nmust be done beneath the open sky.\n\nDrogo had called his khalasar to attend him and they had come, forty thousand\nDothraki warriors and uncounted numbers of women, children, and slaves. Outside the\ncity walls they camped with their vast herds, raising palaces of woven grass, eating\neverything in sight, and making the good folk of Pentos more anxious with every passing\nday.\n\n“My fellow magisters have doubled the size of the city guard,” Illyrio told them over\nplatters of honey duck and orange snap peppers one night at the manse that had been\nDrogo’s. The khal had joined his khalasar, his estate given over to Daenerys and her\nbrother until the wedding.\n\n“Best we get Princess Daenerys wedded quickly before they hand half the wealth of\nPentos away to sellswords and bravos,” Ser Jorah Mormont jested. The exile had offered\nher brother his sword the night Dany had been sold to Kbal Drogo; Viserys had accepted\neagerly. Mormont had been their constant companion ever since.\n\nMagister Illyrio laughed lightly through his forked beard, but Viserys did not so much as\nsmile. “He can have her tomorrow, if he likes,” her brother said. He glanced over at\nDany, and she lowered her eyes. “So long as he pays the price.”\n\nIllyrio waved a languid hand in the air, rings glittering on his fat fingers. “I have told\nyou, all is settled. Trust me. The khal has promised you a crown, and you shall have it.”\n\n“Yes, but when?”\n\n“When the khal chooses,” Illyrio said. “He will have the girl first, and after they are wed\nhe must make his procession across the plains and present her to the dosh khaleen at\nVaes Dothrak. After that, perhaps. If the omens favor war.”\n\nViserys seethed with impatience. “I piss on Dothraki omens. The Usurper sits on my\nfather’s throne. How long must I wait?”\n"
## [98] "Illyrio gave a massive shrug. “You have waited most of your life, great king. What is\nanother few months, another few years?”\n\nSer Jorah, who had traveled as far east as Vaes Dothrak, nodded in agreement. “I\ncounsel you to be patient, Your Grace. The Dothraki are true to their word, but they do\nthings in their own time. A lesser man may beg a favor from the khal, but must never\npresume to berate him.”\n\nViserys bristled. “Guard your tongue, Mormont, or I’ll have it out. I am no lesser man, I\nam the rightful Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. The dragon does not beg.”\n\nSer Jorah lowered his eyes respectfully. Illyrio smiled enigmatically and tore a wing from\nthe duck. Honey and grease ran over his fingers and dripped down into his beard as he\nnibbled at the tender meat. There are no more dragons, Dany thought, staring at her\nbrother, though she did not dare say it aloud.\n\nYet that night she dreamt of one. Viserys was hitting her, hurting her. She was naked,\nclumsy with fear. She ran from him, but her body seemed thick and ungainly. He struck\nher again. She stumbled and fell. “You woke the dragon,” he screamed as he kicked her.\n“You woke the dragon, you woke the dragon.” Her thighs were slick with blood. She\nclosed her eyes and whimpered. As if in answer, there was a hideous ripping sound and\nthe crackling of some great fire. When she looked again, Viserys was gone, great columns\nof flame rose all around, and in the midst of them was the dragon. It turned its great\nhead slowly. When its molten eyes found hers, she woke, shaking and covered with a fine\nsheen of sweat. She had never been so afraid . . .\n\n. . . until the day of her wedding came at last.\n\nThe ceremony began at dawn and continued until dusk, an endless day of drinking and\nfeasting and fighting. A mighty earthen ramp had been raised amid the grass palaces,\nand there Dany was seated beside Khal Drogo, above the seething sea of Dothraki. She\nhad never seen so many people in one place, nor people so strange and frightening. The\nhorselords might put on rich fabrics and sweet perfumes when they visited the Free\nCities, but out under the open sky they kept the old ways. Men and women alike wore\npainted leather vests over bare chests and horsehair leggings cinched by bronze\nmedallion belts, and the warriors greased their long braids with fat from the rendering\npits. They gorged themselves on horseflesh roasted with honey and peppers, drank\nthemselves blind on fermented mare’s milk and Illyrio’s fine wines, and spat jests at\neach other across the fires, their voices harsh and alien in Dany’s ears.\n\nViserys was seated just below her, splendid in a new black wool tunic with a scarlet\n"
## [99] "dragon on the chest. Illyrio and Ser Jorah sat beside him. Theirs was a place of high\nhonor, just below the khal’s own bloodriders, but Dany could see the anger in her\nbrother’s lilac eyes. He did not like sitting beneath her, and he fumed when the slaves\noffered each dish first to the khal and his bride, and served him from the portions they\nrefused. He could do nothing but nurse his resentment, so nurse it he did, his mood\ngrowing blacker by the hour at each insult to his person.\n\nDany had never felt so alone as she did seated in the midst of that vast horde. Her\nbrother had told her to smile, and so she smiled until her face ached and the tears came\nunbidden to her eyes. She did her best to hide them, knowing how angry Viserys would\nbe if he saw her crying, terrified of how Khal Drogo might react. Food was brought to\nher, steaming joints of meat and thick black sausages and Dothraki blood pies, and later\nfruits and sweetgrass stews and delicate pastries from the kitchens of Pentos, but she\nwaved it all away. Her stomach was a roil, and she knew she could keep none of it down.\n\nThere was no one to talk to. Khal Drogo shouted commands and jests down to his\nbloodriders, and laughed at their replies, but he scarcely glanced at Dany beside him.\nThey had no common language. Dothraki was incomprehensible to her, and the khal\nknew only a few words of the bastard Valyrian of the Free Cities, and none at all of the\nCommon Tongue of the Seven Kingdoms. She would even have welcomed the\nconversation of Illyrio and her brother, but they were too far below to hear her.\n\nSo she sat in her wedding silks, nursing a cup of honeyed wine, afraid to eat, talking\nsilently to herself. I am blood of the dragon, she told herself. I am Daenerys Stormborn,\nPrincess of Dragonstone, of the blood and seed of Aegon the Conqueror.\n\nThe sun was only a quarter of the way up the sky when she saw her first man die. Drums\nwere beating as some of the women danced for the khal. Drogo watched without\nexpression, but his eyes followed their movements, and from time to time he would toss\ndown a bronze medallion for the women to fight over.\n\nThe warriors were watching too. One of them finally stepped into the circle, grabbed a\ndancer by the arm, pushed her down to the ground, and mounted her right there, as a\nstallion mounts a mare. Illyrio had told her that might happen. “The Dothraki mate like\nthe animals in their herds. There is no privacy in a khalasar, and they do not understand\nsin or shame as we do.”\n\nDany looked away from the coupling, frightened when she realized what was happening,\nbut a second warrior stepped forward, and a third, and soon there was no way to avert\nher eyes. Then two men seized the same woman. She heard a shout, saw a shove, and in\nthe blink of an eye the arakhs were out, long razor-sharp blades, half sword and half\nscythe. A dance of death began as the warriors circled and slashed, leaping toward each\n"
## [100] "other, whirling the blades around their heads, shrieking insults at each clash. No one\nmade a move to interfere.\n\nIt ended as quickly as it began. The arakhs shivered together faster than Dany could\nfollow, one man missed a step, the other swung his blade in a flat arc. Steel bit into flesh\njust above the Dothraki’s waist, and opened him from backbone to belly button, spilling\nhis entrails into the dust. As the loser died, the winner took hold of the nearest woman—\nnot even the one they had been quarreling over—and had her there and then. Slaves\ncarried off the body, and the dancing resumed.\n\nMagister Illyrio had warned Dany about this too. “A Dothraki wedding without at least\nthree deaths is deemed a dull affair,” he had said. Her wedding must have been\nespecially blessed; before the day was over, a dozen men had died.\n\nAs the hours passed, the terror grew in Dany, until it was all she could do not to scream.\nShe was afraid of the Dothraki, whose ways seemed alien and monstrous, as if they were\nbeasts in human skins and not true men at all. She was afraid of her brother, of what he\nmight do if she failed him. Most of all, she was afraid of what would happen tonight\nunder the stars, when her brother gave her up to the hulking giant who sat drinking\nbeside her with a face as still and cruel as a bronze mask.\n\nI am the blood of the dragon, she told herself again.\n\nWhen at last the sun was low in the sky, Khal Drogo clapped his hands together, and the\ndrums and the shouting and feasting came to a sudden halt. Drogo stood and pulled\nDany to her feet beside him. It was time for her bride gifts.\n\nAnd after the gifts, she knew, after the sun had gone down, it would be time for the first\nride and the consummation of her marriage. Dany tried to put the thought aside, but it\nwould not leave her. She hugged herself to try to keep from shaking.\n\nHer brother Viserys gifted her with three handmaids. Dany knew they had cost him\nnothing; Illyrio no doubt had provided the girls. Irri and Jhiqui were copper-skinned\nDothraki with black hair and almond-shaped eyes, Doreah a fair-haired, blue-eyed\nLysene girl. “These are no common servants, sweet sister,” her brother told her as they\nwere brought forward one by one. “Illyrio and I selected them personally for you. Irri\nwill teach you riding, Jhiqui the Dothraki tongue, and Doreah will instruct you in the\nwomanly arts of love.” He smiled thinly. “She’s very good, Illyrio and I can both swear to\nthat.”\n\nSer Jorah Mormont apologized for his gift. “It is a small thing, my princess, but all a\npoor exile could afford,” he said as he laid a small stack of old books before her. They\n"
## [101] "were histories and songs of the Seven Kingdoms, she saw, written in the Common\nTongue. She thanked him with all her heart.\n\nMagister Illyrio murmured a command, and four burly slaves hurried forward, bearing\nbetween them a great cedar chest bound in bronze. When she opened it, she found piles\nof the finest velvets and damasks the Free Cities could produce . . . and resting on top,\nnestled in the soft cloth, three huge eggs. Dany gasped. They were the most beautiful\nthings she had ever seen, each different than the others, patterned in such rich colors\nthat at first she thought they were crusted with jewels, and so large it took both of her\nhands to hold one. She lifted it delicately, expecting that it would be made of some fine\nporcelain or delicate enamel, or even blown glass, but it was much heavier than that, as\nif it were all of solid stone. The surface of the shell was covered with tiny scales, and as\nshe turned the egg between her fingers, they shimmered like polished metal in the light\nof the setting sun. One egg was a deep green, with burnished bronze flecks that came\nand went depending on how Dany turned it. Another was pale cream streaked with gold.\nThe last was black, as black as a midnight sea, yet alive with scarlet ripples and swirls.\n“What are they?” she asked, her voice hushed and full of wonder.\n\n“Dragon’s eggs, from the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai,” said Magister Illyrio. “The eons\nhave turned them to stone, yet still they burn bright with beauty.”\n\n“I shall treasure them always.” Dany had heard tales of such eggs, but she had never\nseen one, nor thought to see one. It was a truly magnificent gift, though she knew that\nIllyrio could afford to be lavish. He had collected a fortune in horses and slaves for his\npart in selling her to Khal Drogo.\n\nThe khal’s bloodriders offered her the traditional three weapons, and splendid weapons\nthey were. Haggo gave her a great leather whip with a silver handle, Cohollo a\nmagnificent arakh chased in gold, and Qotho a double-curved dragonbone bow taller\nthan she was. Magister Illyrio and Ser Jorah had taught her the traditional refusals for\nthese offerings. “This is a gift worthy of a great warrior, O blood of my blood, and I am\nbut a woman. Let my lord husband bear these in my stead.” And so Khal Drogo too\nreceived his “bride gifts.”\n\nOther gifts she was given in plenty by other Dothraki: slippers and jewels and silver\nrings for her hair, medallion belts and painted vests and soft furs, sandsilks and jars of\nscent, needles and feathers and tiny bottles of purple glass, and a gown made from the\nskin of a thousand mice. “A handsome gift, Khaleesi,” Magister Illyrio said of the last,\nafter he had told her what it was. “Most lucky.” The gifts mounted up around her in great\npiles, more gifts than she could possibly imagine, more gifts than she could want or use.\n\nAnd last of all, Khal Drogo brought forth his own bride gift to her. An expectant hush\n"
## [102] "rippled out from the center of the camp as he left her side, growing until it had\nswallowed the whole khalasar. When he returned, the dense press of Dothraki gift-\ngivers parted before him, and he led the horse to her.\n\nShe was a young filly, spirited and splendid. Dany knew just enough about horses to\nknow that this was no ordinary animal. There was something about her that took the\nbreath away. She was grey as the winter sea, with a mane like silver smoke.\n\nHesitantly she reached out and stroked the horse’s neck, ran her fingers through the\nsilver of her mane. Khal Drogo said something in Dothraki and Magister Illyrio\ntranslated. “Silver for the silver of your hair, the khal says.”\n\n“She’s beautiful,” Dany murmured.\n\n“She is the pride of the khalasar, “ Illyrio said. “Custom decrees that the khaleesi must\nride a mount worthy of her place by the side of the khal.”\n\nDrogo stepped forward and put his hands on her waist. He lifted her up as easily as if she\nwere a child and set her on the thin Dothraki saddle, so much smaller than the ones she\nwas used to. Dany sat there uncertain for a moment. No one had told her about this part.\n“What should I do?” she asked Illyrio.\n\nIt was Ser Jorah Mormont who answered. “Take the reins and ride. You need not go far.”\n\nNervously Dany gathered the reins in her hands and slid her feet into the short stirrups.\nShe was only a fair rider; she had spent far more time traveling by ship and wagon and\npalanquin than by horseback. Praying that she would not fall off and disgrace herself,\nshe gave the filly the lightest and most timid touch with her knees.\n\nAnd for the first time in hours, she forgot to be afraid. Or perhaps it was for the first time\never.\n\nThe silver-grey filly moved with a smooth and silken gait, and the crowd parted for her,\nevery eye upon them. Dany found herself moving faster than she had intended, yet\nsomehow it was exciting rather than terrifying. The horse broke into a trot, and she\nsmiled. Dothraki scrambled to clear a path. The slightest pressure with her legs, the\nlightest touch on the reins, and the filly responded. She sent it into a gallop, and now the\nDothraki were hooting and laughing and shouting at her as they jumped out of her way.\nAs she turned to ride back, a firepit loomed ahead, directly in her path. They were\nhemmed in on either side, with no room to stop. A daring she had never known filled\nDaenerys then, and she gave the filly her head.\n"
## [103] "The silver horse leapt the flames as if she had wings.\n\nWhen she pulled up before Magister Illyrio, she said, “Tell Khal Drogo that he has given\nme the wind.” The fat Pentoshi stroked his yellow beard as he repeated her words in\nDothraki, and Dany saw her new husband smile for the first time.\n\nThe last sliver of sun vanished behind the high walls of Pentos to the west just then.\nDany had lost all track of time. Khal Drogo commanded his bloodriders to bring forth\nhis own horse, a lean red stallion. As the khal was saddling the horse, Viserys slid close\nto Dany on her silver, dug his fingers into her leg, and said, “Please him, sweet sister, or I\nswear, you will see the dragon wake as it has never woken before.”\n\nThe fear came back to her then, with her brother’s words. She felt like a child once more,\nonly thirteen and all alone, not ready for what was about to happen to her.\n\nThey rode out together as the stars came out, leaving the khalasar and the grass palaces\nbehind. Khal Drogo spoke no word to her, but drove his stallion at a hard trot through\nthe gathering dusk. The tiny silver bells in his long braid rang softly as he rode. “I am the\nblood of the dragon,” she whispered aloud as she followed, trying to keep her courage\nup. “I am the blood of the dragon. I am the blood of the dragon.” The dragon was never\nafraid.\n\nAfterward she could not say how far or how long they had ridden, but it was full dark\nwhen they stopped at a grassy place beside a small stream. Drogo swung off his horse\nand lifted her down from hers. She felt as fragile as glass in his hands, her limbs as weak\nas water. She stood there helpless and trembling in her wedding silks while he secured\nthe horses, and when he turned to look at her, she began to cry.\n\nKhal Drogo stared at her tears, his face strangely empty of expression. “No,” he said. He\nlifted his hand and rubbed away the tears roughly with a callused thumb.\n\n“You speak the Common Tongue,” Dany said in wonder.\n\n“No,” he said again.\n\nPerhaps he had only that word, she thought, but it was one word more than she had\nknown he had, and somehow it made her feel a little better. Drogo touched her hair\nlightly, sliding the silver-blond strands between his fingers and murmuring softly in\nDothraki. Dany did not understand the words, yet there was warmth in the tone, a\ntenderness she had never expected from this man.\n\nHe put his finger under her chin and lifted her head, so she was looking up into his eyes.\n"
## [104] "Drogo towered over her as he towered over everyone. Taking her lightly under the arms,\nhe lifted her and seated her on a rounded rock beside the stream. Then he sat on the\nground facing her, legs crossed beneath him, their faces finally at a height. “No,” he said.\n\n“Is that the only word you know?” she asked him.\n\nDrogo did not reply. His long heavy braid was coiled in the dirt beside him. He pulled it\nover his right shoulder and began to remove the bells from his hair, one by one. After a\nmoment Dany leaned forward to help. When they were done, Drogo gestured. She\nunderstood. Slowly, carefully, she began to undo his braid.\n\nIt took a long time. All the while he sat there silently, watching her. When she was done,\nhe shook his head, and his hair spread out behind him like a river of darkness, oiled and\ngleaming. She had never seen hair so long, so black, so thick.\n\nThen it was his turn. He began to undress her.\n\nHis fingers were deft and strangely tender. He removed her silks one by one, carefully,\nwhile Dany sat unmoving, silent, looking at his eyes. When he bared her small breasts,\nshe could not help herself. She averted her eyes and covered herself with her hands.\n“No,” Drogo said. He pulled her hands away from her breasts, gently but firmly, then\nlifted her face again to make her look at him. “No,” he repeated.\n\n“No,” she echoed back at him.\n\nHe stood her up then and pulled her close to remove the last of her silks. The night air\nwas chilly on her bare skin. She shivered, and gooseflesh covered her arms and legs. She\nwas afraid of what would come next, but for a while nothing happened. Khal Drogo sat\nwith his legs crossed, looking at her, drinking in her body with his eyes.\n\nAfter a while he began to touch her. Lightly at first, then harder. She could sense the\nfierce strength in his hands, but he never hurt her. He held her hand in his own and\nbrushed her fingers, one by one. He ran a hand gently down her leg. He stroked her face,\ntracing the curve of her ears, running a finger gently around her mouth. He put both\nhands in her hair and combed it with his fingers. He turned her around, massaged her\nshoulders, slid a knuckle down the path of her spine.\n\nIt seemed as if hours passed before his hands finally went to her breasts. He stroked the\nsoft skin underneath until it tingled. He circled her nipples with his thumbs, pinched\nthem between thumb and forefinger, then began to pull at her, very lightly at first, then\nmore insistently, until her nipples stiffened and began to ache.\n"
## [105] "He stopped then, and drew her down onto his lap. Dany was flushed and breathless, her\nheart fluttering in her chest. He cupped her face in his huge hands and looked into his\neyes. “No?” he said, and she knew it was a question.\n\nShe took his hand and moved it down to the wetness between her thighs. “Yes,” she\nwhispered as she put his finger inside her.\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [106] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n EDDARD\nThe summons came in the hour before the dawn, when the world was still and grey.\n\nAlyn shook him roughly from his dreams and Ned stumbled into the predawn chill,\ngroggy from sleep, to find his horse saddled and the king already mounted. Robert wore\nthick brown gloves and a heavy fur cloak with a hood that covered his ears, and looked\nfor all the world like a bear sitting a horse. “Up, Stark!” he roared. “Up, up! We have\nmatters of state to discuss.”\n\n“By all means,” Ned said. “Come inside, Your Grace.” Alyn lifted the flap of the tent.\n\n“No, no, no,” Robert said. His breath steamed with every word. “The camp is full of ears.\nBesides, I want to ride out and taste this country of yours.” Ser Boros and Ser Meryn\nwaited behind him with a dozen guardsmen, Ned saw. There was nothing to do but rub\nthe sleep from his eyes, dress, and mount up.\n\nRobert set the pace, driving his huge black destrier hard as Ned galloped along beside\nhim, trying to keep up. He called out a question as they rode, but the wind blew his\nwords away, and the king did not hear him. After that Ned rode in silence. They soon left\nthe kingsroad and took off across rolling plains dark with mist. By then the guard had\nfallen back a small distance, safely out of earshot, but still Robert would not slow.\n\nDawn broke as they crested a low ridge, and finally the king pulled up. By then they were\nmiles south of the main party. Robert was flushed and exhilarated as Ned reined up\nbeside him. “Gods,” he swore, laughing, “it feels good to get out and ride the way a man\nwas meant to ride! I swear, Ned, this creeping along is enough to drive a man mad.” He\nhad never been a patient man, Robert Baratheon. “That damnable wheelhouse, the way\nit creaks and groans, climbing every bump in the road as if it were a mountain . . . I\npromise you, if that wretched thing breaks another axle, I’m going to burn it, and Cersei\ncan walk!”\n\nNed laughed. “I will gladly light the torch for you.”\n\n“Good man!” The king clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ve half a mind to leave them all\nbehind and just keep going.”\n"
## [107] "A smile touched Ned’s lips. “I do believe you mean it.”\n\n“I do, I do,” the king said. “What do you say, Ned? Just you and me, two vagabond\nknights on the kingsroad, our swords at our sides and the gods know what in front of us,\nand maybe a farmer’s daughter or a tavern wench to warm our beds tonight.”\n\n“Would that we could,” Ned said, “but we have duties now, my liege . . . to the realm, to\nour children, I to my lady wife and you to your queen. We are not the boys we were.”\n\n“You were never the boy you were,” Robert grumbled. “More’s the pity. And yet there\nwas that one time . . . what was her name, that common girl of yours? Becca? No, she\nwas one of mine, gods love her, black hair and these sweet big eyes, you could drown in\nthem. Yours was . . . Aleena? No. You told me once. Was it Merryl? You know the one I\nmean, your bastard’s mother?”\n\n“Her name was Wylla,” Ned replied with cool courtesy, “and I would sooner not speak of\nher.”\n\n“Wylla. Yes.” The king grinned. “She must have been a rare wench if she could make\nLord Eddard Stark forget his honor, even for an hour. You never told me what she\nlooked like . . . ”\n\nNed’s mouth tightened in anger. “Nor will I. Leave it be, Robert, for the love you say you\nbear me. I dishonored myself and I dishonored Catelyn, in the sight of gods and men.”\n\n“Gods have mercy, you scarcely knew Catelyn.”\n\n“I had taken her to wife. She was carrying my child.”\n\n“You are too hard on yourself, Ned. You always were. Damn it, no woman wants Baelor\nthe Blessed in her bed.” He slapped a hand on his knee. “Well, I’ll not press you if you\nfeel so strong about it, though I swear, at times you’re so prickly you ought to take the\nhedgehog as your sigil.”\n\nThe rising sun sent fingers of light through the pale white mists of dawn. A wide plain\nspread out beneath them, bare and brown, its flatness here and there relieved by long,\nlow hummocks. Ned pointed them out to his king. “The barrows of the First Men.”\n\nRobert frowned. “Have we ridden onto a graveyard?”\n\n“There are barrows everywhere in the north, Your Grace,” Ned told him. “This land is\nold.”\n"
## [108] "“And cold,” Robert grumbled, pulling his cloak more tightly around himself. The guard\nhad reined up well behind them, at the bottom of the ridge. “Well, I did not bring you\nout here to talk of graves or bicker about your bastard. There was a rider in the night,\nfrom Lord Varys in King’s Landing. Here.” The king pulled a paper from his belt and\nhanded it to Ned.\n\nVarys the eunuch was the king’s master of whisperers. He served Robert now as he had\nonce served Aerys Targaryen. Ned unrolled the paper with trepidation, thinking of Lysa\nand her terrible accusation, but the message did not concern Lady Arryn. “What is the\nsource for this information?”\n\n“Do you remember Ser Jorah Mormont?”\n\n“Would that I might forget him,” Ned said bluntly. The Mormonts of Bear Island were an\nold house, proud and honorable, but their lands were cold and distant and poor. Ser\nJorah had tried to swell the family coffers by selling some poachers to a Tyroshi slaver.\nAs the Mormonts were bannermen to the Starks, his crime had dishonored the north.\nNed had made the long journey west to Bear Island, only to find when he arrived that\nJorah had taken ship beyond the reach of Ice and the king’s justice. Five years had\npassed since then.\n\n“Ser Jorah is now in Pentos, anxious to earn a royal pardon that would allow him to\nreturn from exile,” Robert explained. “Lord Varys makes good use of him.”\n\n“So the slaver has become a spy,” Ned said with distaste. He handed the letter back. “I\nwould rather he become a corpse.”\n\n“Varys tells me that spies are more useful than corpses,” Robert said. “Jorah aside, what\ndo you make of his report?”\n\n“Daenerys Targaryen has wed some Dothraki horselord. What of it? Shall we send her a\nwedding gift?”\n\nThe king frowned. “A knife, perhaps. A good sharp one, and a bold man to wield it.”\n\nNed did not feign surprise; Robert’s hatred of the Targaryens was a madness in him. He\nremembered the angry words they had exchanged when Tywin Lannister had presented\nRobert with the corpses of Rhaegar’s wife and children as a token of fealty. Ned had\nnamed that murder; Robert called it war. When he had protested that the young prince\nand princess were no more than babes, his new-made king had replied, “I see no babes.\nOnly dragonspawn.” Not even Jon Arryn had been able to calm that storm. Eddard Stark\n"
## [109] "had ridden out that very day in a cold rage, to fight the last battles of the war alone in the\nsouth. It had taken another death to reconcile them; Lyanna’s death, and the grief they\nhad shared over her passing.\n\nThis time, Ned resolved to keep his temper. “Your Grace, the girl is scarcely more than a\nchild. You are no Tywin Lannister, to slaughter innocents.” It was said that Rhaegar’s\nlittle girl had cried as they dragged her from beneath her bed to face the swords. The boy\nhad been no more than a babe in arms, yet Lord Tywin’s soldiers had torn him from his\nmother’s breast and dashed his head against a wall.\n\n“And how long will this one remain an innocent?” Robert’s mouth grew hard. “This child\nwill soon enough spread her legs and start breeding more dragonspawn to plague me.”\n\n“Nonetheless,” Ned said, “the murder of children . . . it would be\nvile . . . unspeakable . . . ”\n\n“Unspeakable?” the king roared. “What Aerys did to your brother Brandon was\nunspeakable. The way your lord father died, that was unspeakable. And Rhaegar . . . how\nmany times do you think he raped your sister? How many hundreds of times?” His voice\nhad grown so loud that his horse whinnied nervously beneath him. The king jerked the\nreins hard, quieting the animal, and pointed an angry finger at Ned. “I will kill every\nTargaryen I can get my hands on, until they are as dead as their dragons, and then I will\npiss on their graves.”\n\nNed knew better than to defy him when the wrath was on him. If the years had not\nquenched Robert’s thirst for revenge, no words of his would help. “You can’t get your\nhands on this one, can you?” he said quietly.\n\nThe king’s mouth twisted in a bitter grimace. “No, gods be cursed. Some pox-ridden\nPentoshi cheesemonger had her brother and her walled up on his estate with pointy-\nhatted eunuchs all around them, and now he’s handed them over to the Dothraki. I\nshould have had them both killed years ago, when it was easy to get at them, but Jon was\nas bad as you. More fool I, I listened to him.”\n\n“Jon Arryn was a wise man and a good Hand.”\n\nRobert snorted. The anger was leaving him as suddenly as it had come. “This Khal Drogo\nis said to have a hundred thousand men in his horde. What would Jon say to that?”\n\n“He would say that even a million Dothraki are no threat to the realm, so long as they\nremain on the other side of the narrow sea,” Ned replied calmly. “The barbarians have\nno ships. They hate and fear the open sea.”\n"
## [110] "The king shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. “Perhaps. There are ships to be had in the\nFree Cities, though. I tell you, Ned, I do not like this marriage. There are still those in the\nSeven Kingdoms who call me Usurper. Do you forget how many houses fought for\nTargaryen in the war? They bide their time for now, but give them half a chance, they\nwill murder me in my bed, and my sons with me. If the beggar king crosses with a\nDothraki horde at his back, the traitors will join him.”\n\n“He will not cross,” Ned promised. “And if by some mischance he does, we will throw\nhim back into the sea. Once you choose a new Warden of the East—”\n\nThe king groaned. “For the last time, I will not name the Arryn boy Warden. I know the\nboy is your nephew, but with Targaryens climbing in bed with Dothraki, I would be mad\nto rest one quarter of the realm on the shoulders of a sickly child.”\n\nNed was ready for that. “Yet we still must have a Warden of the East. If Robert Arryn will\nnot do, name one of your brothers. Stannis proved himself at the siege of Storm’s End,\nsurely.”\n\nHe let the name hang there for a moment. The king frowned and said nothing. He\nlooked uncomfortable.\n\n“That is,” Ned finished quietly, watching, “unless you have already promised the honor\nto another.”\n\nFor a moment Robert had the grace to look startled. Just as quickly, the look became\nannoyance. “What if I have?”\n\n“It’s Jaime Lannister, is it not?”\n\nRobert kicked his horse back into motion and started down the ridge toward the\nbarrows. Ned kept pace with him. The king rode on, eyes straight ahead. “Yes,” he said at\nlast. A single hard word to end the matter.\n\n“Kingslayer,” Ned said. The rumors were true, then. He rode on dangerous ground now,\nhe knew. “An able and courageous man, no doubt,” he said carefully, “but his father is\nWarden of the West, Robert. In time Ser Jaime will succeed to that honor. No one man\nshould hold both East and West.” He left unsaid his real concern; that the appointment\nwould put half the armies of the realm into the hands of Lannisters.\n\n“I will fight that battle when the enemy appears on the field,” the king said stubbornly.\n“At the moment, Lord Tywin looms eternal as Casterly Rock, so I doubt that Jaime will\n"
## [111] "be succeeding anytime soon. Don’t vex me about this, Ned, the stone has been set.”\n\n“Your Grace, may I speak frankly?”\n\n“I seem unable to stop you,” Robert grumbled. They rode through tall brown grasses.\n\n“Can you trust Jaime Lannister?”\n\n“He is my wife’s twin, a Sworn Brother of the Kingsguard, his life and fortune and honor\nall bound to mine.”\n\n“As they were bound to Aerys Targaryen’s,” Ned pointed out.\n\n“Why should I mistrust him? He has done everything I have ever asked of him. His\nsword helped win the throne I sit on.”\n\nHis sword helped taint the throne you sit on, Ned thought, but he did not permit the\nwords to pass his lips. “He swore a vow to protect his king’s life with his own. Then he\nopened that king’s throat with a sword.”\n\n“Seven hells, someone had to kill Aerys!” Robert said, reining his mount to a sudden halt\nbeside an ancient barrow. “If Jaime hadn’t done it, it would have been left for you or me.”\n\n“We were not Sworn Brothers of the Kingsguard,” Ned said. The time had come for\nRobert to hear the whole truth, he decided then and there. “Do you remember the\nTrident, Your Grace?”\n\n“I won my crown there. How should I forget it?”\n\n“You took a wound from Rhaegar,” Ned reminded him. “So when the Targaryen host\nbroke and ran, you gave the pursuit into my hands. The remnants of Rhaegar’s army fled\nback to King’s Landing. We followed. Aerys was in the Red Keep with several thousand\nloyalists. I expected to find the gates closed to us.”\n\nRobert gave an impatient shake of his head. “Instead you found that our men had\nalready taken the city. What of it?”\n\n“Not our men,” Ned said patiently. “Lannister men. The lion of Lannister flew over the\nramparts, not the crowned stag. And they had taken the city by treachery.”\n\nThe war had raged for close to a year. Lords great and small had flocked to Robert’s\n"
## [112] "banners; others had remained loyal to Targaryen. The mighty Lannisters of Casterly\nRock, the Wardens of the West, had remained aloof from the struggle, ignoring calls to\narms from both rebels and royalists. Aerys Targaryen must have thought that his gods\nhad answered his prayers when Lord Tywin Lannister appeared before the gates of\nKing’s Landing with an army twelve thousand strong, professing loyalty. So the mad\nking had ordered his last mad act. He had opened his city to the lions at the gate.\n\n“Treachery was a coin the Targaryens knew well,” Robert said. The anger was building in\nhim again. “Lannister paid them back in kind. It was no less than they deserved. I shall\nnot trouble my sleep over it.”\n\n“You were not there,” Ned said, bitterness in his voice. Troubled sleep was no stranger to\nhim. He had lived his lies for fourteen years, yet they still haunted him at night. “There\nwas no honor in that conquest.”\n\n“The Others take your honor!” Robert swore. “What did any Targaryen ever know of\nhonor? Go down into your crypt and ask Lyanna about the dragon’s honor!”\n\n“You avenged Lyanna at the Trident,” Ned said, halting beside the king. Promise me,\nNed, she had whispered.\n\n“That did not bring her back.” Robert looked away, off into the grey distance. “The gods\nbe damned. It was a hollow victory they gave me. A crown . . . it was the girl I prayed\nthem for. Your sister, safe . . . and mine again, as she was meant to be. I ask you, Ned,\nwhat good is it to wear a crown? The gods mock the prayers of kings and cowherds alike.”\n\n“I cannot answer for the gods, Your Grace . . . only for what I found when I rode into the\nthrone room that day,” Ned said. “Aerys was dead on the floor, drowned in his own\nblood. His dragon skulls stared down from the walls. Lannister’s men were everywhere.\nJaime wore the white cloak of the Kingsguard over his golden armor. I can see him still.\nEven his sword was gilded. He was seated on the Iron Throne, high above his knights,\nwearing a helm fashioned in the shape of a lion’s head. How he glittered!”\n\n“This is well known,” the king complained.\n\n“I was still mounted. I rode the length of the hall in silence, between the long rows of\ndragon skulls. It felt as though they were watching me, somehow. I stopped in front of\nthe throne, looking up at him. His golden sword was across his legs, its edge red with a\nking’s blood. My men were filling the room behind me. Lannister’s men drew back. I\nnever said a word. I looked at him seated there on the throne, and I waited. At last Jaime\nlaughed and got up. He took off his helm, and he said to me, ‘Have no fear, Stark. I was\nonly keeping it warm for our friend Robert. It’s not a very comfortable seat, I’m afraid.’ ”\n"
## [113] "The king threw back his head and roared. His laughter startled a flight of crows from the\ntall brown grass. They took to the air in a wild beating of wings. “You think I should\nmistrust Lannister because he sat on my throne for a few moments?” He shook with\nlaughter again. “Jaime was all of seventeen, Ned. Scarce more than a boy.”\n\n“Boy or man, he had no right to that throne.”\n\n“Perhaps he was tired,” Robert suggested. “Killing kings is weary work. Gods know,\nthere’s no place else to rest your ass in that damnable room. And he spoke truly, it is a\nmonstrous uncomfortable chair. In more ways than one.” The king shook his head.\n“Well, now I know Jaime’s dark sin, and the matter can be forgotten. I am heartily sick\nof secrets and squabbles and matters of state, Ned. It’s all as tedious as counting\ncoppers. Come, let’s ride, you used to know how. I want to feel the wind in my hair\nagain.” He kicked his horse back into motion and galloped up over the barrow, raining\nearth down behind him.\n\nFor a moment Ned did not follow. He had run out of words, and he was filled with a vast\nsense of helplessness. Not for the first time, he wondered what he was doing here and\nwhy he had come. He was no Jon Arryn, to curb the wildness of his king and teach him\nwisdom. Robert would do what he pleased, as he always had, and nothing Ned could say\nor do would change that. He belonged in Winterfell. He belonged with Catelyn in her\ngrief, and with Bran.\n\nA man could not always be where he belonged, though. Resigned, Eddard Stark put his\nboots into his horse and set off after the king.\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [114] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n TYRION\nThe north went on forever.\n\nTyrion Lannister knew the maps as well as anyone, but a fortnight on the wild track that\npassed for the kingsroad up here had brought home the lesson that the map was one\nthing and the land quite another.\n\nThey had left Winterfell on the same day as the king, amidst all the commotion of the\nroyal departure, riding out to the sound of men shouting and horses snorting, to the\nrattle of wagons and the groaning of the queen’s huge wheelhouse, as a light snow\nflurried about them. The kingsroad was just beyond the sprawl of castle and town. There\nthe banners and the wagons and the columns of knights and freeriders turned south,\ntaking the tumult with them, while Tyrion turned north with Benjen Stark and his\nnephew.\n\nIt had grown colder after that, and far more quiet.\n\nWest of the road were flint hills, grey and rugged, with tall watchtowers on their stony\nsummits. To the east the land was lower, the ground flattening to a rolling plain that\nstretched away as far as the eye could see. Stone bridges spanned swift, narrow rivers,\nwhile small farms spread in rings around holdfasts walled in wood and stone. The road\nwas well trafficked, and at night for their comfort there were rude inns to be found.\n\nThree days ride from Winterfell, however, the farmland gave way to dense wood, and the\nkingsroad grew lonely. The flint hills rose higher and wilder with each passing mile, until\nby the fifth day they had turned into mountains, cold blue-grey giants with jagged\npromontories and snow on their shoulders. When the wind blew from the north, long\nplumes of ice crystals flew from the high peaks like banners.\n\nWith the mountains a wall to the west, the road veered north by northeast through the\nwood, a forest of oak and evergreen and black brier that seemed older and darker than\nany Tyrion had ever seen. “The wolfswood,” Benjen Stark called it, and indeed their\nnights came alive with the howls of distant packs, and some not so distant. Jon Snow’s\nalbino direwolf pricked up his ears at the nightly howling, but never raised his own voice\nin reply. There was something very unsettling about that animal, Tyrion thought.\n"
## [115] "There were eight in the party by then, not counting the wolf. Tyrion traveled with two of\nhis own men, as befit a Lannister. Benjen Stark had only his bastard nephew and some\nfresh mounts for the Night’s Watch, but at the edge of the wolfswood they stayed a night\nbehind the wooden walls of a forest holdfast, and there joined up with another of the\nblack brothers, one Yoren. Yoren was stooped and sinister, his features hidden behind a\nbeard as black as his clothing, but he seemed as tough as an old root and as hard as\nstone. With him were a pair of ragged peasant boys from the Fingers. “Rapers,” Yoren\nsaid with a cold look at his charges. Tyrion understood. Life on the Wall was said to be\nhard, but no doubt it was preferable to castration.\n\nFive men, three boys, a direwolf, twenty horses, and a cage of ravens given over to\nBenjen Stark by Maester Luwin. No doubt they made a curious fellowship for the\nkingsroad, or any road.\n\nTyrion noticed Jon Snow watching Yoren and his sullen companions, with an odd cast to\nhis face that looked uncomfortably like dismay. Yoren had a twisted shoulder and a sour\nsmell, his hair and beard were matted and greasy and full of lice, his clothing old,\npatched, and seldom washed. His two young recruits smelled even worse, and seemed as\nstupid as they were cruel.\n\nNo doubt the boy had made the mistake of thinking that the Night’s Watch was made up\nof men like his uncle. If so, Yoren and his companions were a rude awakening. Tyrion\nfelt sorry for the boy. He had chosen a hard life . . . or perhaps he should say that a hard\nlife had been chosen for him.\n\nHe had rather less sympathy for the uncle. Benjen Stark seemed to share his brother’s\ndistaste for Lannisters, and he had not been pleased when Tyrion had told him of his\nintentions. “I warn you, Lannister, you’ll find no inns at the Wall,” he had said, looking\ndown on him.\n\n“No doubt you’ll find some place to put me,” Tyrion had replied. “As you might have\nnoticed, I’m small.”\n\nOne did not say no to the queen’s brother, of course, so that had settled the matter, but\nStark had not been happy. “You will not like the ride, I promise you that,” he’d said\ncurtly, and since the moment they set out, he had done all he could to live up to that\npromise.\n\nBy the end of the first week, Tyrion’s thighs were raw from hard riding, his legs were\ncramping badly, and he was chilled to the bone. He did not complain. He was damned if\nhe would give Benjen Stark that satisfaction.\n"
## [116] "He took a small revenge in the matter of his riding fur, a tattered bearskin, old and\nmusty-smelling. Stark had offered it to him in an excess of Night’s Watch gallantry, no\ndoubt expecting him to graciously decline. Tyrion had accepted with a smile. He had\nbrought his warmest clothing with him when they rode out of Winterfell, and soon\ndiscovered that it was nowhere near warm enough. It was cold up here, and growing\ncolder. The nights were well below freezing now, and when the wind blew it was like a\nknife cutting right through his warmest woolens. By now Stark was no doubt regretting\nhis chivalrous impulse. Perhaps he had learned a lesson. The Lannisters never declined,\ngraciously or otherwise. The Lannisters took what was offered.\n\nFarms and holdfasts grew scarcer and smaller as they pressed northward, ever deeper\ninto the darkness of the wolfswood, until finally there were no more roofs to shelter\nunder, and they were thrown back on their own resources.\n\nTyrion was never much use in making a camp or breaking one. Too small, too hobbled,\ntoo in-the-way. So while Stark and Yoren and the other men erected rude shelters,\ntended the horses, and built a fire, it became his custom to take his fur and a wineskin\nand go off by himself to read.\n\nOn the eighteenth night of their journey, the wine was a rare sweet amber from the\nSummer Isles that he had brought all the way north from Casterly Rock, and the book a\nrumination on the history and properties of dragons. With Lord Eddard Stark’s\npermission, Tyrion had borrowed a few rare volumes from the Winterfell library and\npacked them for the ride north.\n\nHe found a comfortable spot just beyond the noise of the camp, beside a swift-running\nstream with waters clear and cold as ice. A grotesquely ancient oak provided shelter\nfrom the biting wind. Tyrion curled up in his fur with his back against the trunk, took a\nsip of the wine, and began to read about the properties of dragonbone. Dragonbone is\nblack because of its high iron content, the book told him. It is strong as steel, yet lighter\nand far more flexible, and of course utterly impervious to fire. Dragonbone bows are\ngreatly prized by the Dothraki, and small wonder. An archer so armed can outrange\nany wooden bow.\n\nTyrion had a morbid fascination with dragons. When he had first come to King’s\nLanding for his sister’s wedding to Robert Baratheon, he had made it a point to seek out\nthe dragon skulls that had hung on the walls of Targaryen’s throne room. King Robert\nhad replaced them with banners and tapestries, but Tyrion had persisted until he found\nthe skulls in the dank cellar where they had been stored.\n\nHe had expected to find them impressive, perhaps even frightening. He had not thought\nto find them beautiful. Yet they were. As black as onyx, polished smooth, so the bone\n"
## [117] "seemed to shimmer in the light of his torch. They liked the fire, he sensed. He’d thrust\nthe torch into the mouth of one of the larger skulls and made the shadows leap and\ndance on the wall behind him. The teeth were long, curving knives of black diamond.\nThe flame of the torch was nothing to them; they had bathed in the heat of far greater\nfires. When he had moved away, Tyrion could have sworn that the beast’s empty eye\nsockets had watched him go.\n\nThere were nineteen skulls. The oldest was more than three thousand years old; the\nyoungest a mere century and a half. The most recent were also the smallest; a matched\npair no bigger than mastiff’s skulls, and oddly misshapen, all that remained of the last\ntwo hatchlings born on Dragonstone. They were the last of the Targaryen dragons,\nperhaps the last dragons anywhere, and they had not lived very long.\n\nFrom there the skulls ranged upward in size to the three great monsters of song and\nstory, the dragons that Aegon Targaryen and his sisters had unleashed on the Seven\nKingdoms of old. The singers had given them the names of gods: Balerion, Meraxes,\nVhaghar. Tyrion had stood between their gaping jaws, wordless and awed. You could\nhave ridden a horse down Vhaghar’s gullet, although you would not have ridden it out\nagain. Meraxes was even bigger. And the greatest of them, Balerion, the Black Dread,\ncould have swallowed an aurochs whole, or even one of the hairy mammoths said to\nroam the cold wastes beyond the Port of Ibben.\n\nTyrion stood in that dank cellar for a long time, staring at Balerion’s huge, empty-eyed\nskull until his torch burned low, trying to grasp the size of the living animal, to imagine\nhow it must have looked when it spread its great black wings and swept across the skies,\nbreathing fire.\n\nHis own remote ancestor, King Loren of the Rock, had tried to stand against the fire\nwhen he joined with King Mern of the Reach to oppose the Targaryen conquest. That\nwas close on three hundred years ago, when the Seven Kingdoms were kingdoms, and\nnot mere provinces of a greater realm. Between them, the Two Kings had six hundred\nbanners flying, five thousand mounted knights, and ten times as many freeriders and\nmen-at-arms. Aegon Dragonlord had perhaps a fifth that number, the chroniclers said,\nand most of those were conscripts from the ranks of the last king he had slain, their\nloyalties uncertain.\n\nThe hosts met on the broad plains of the Reach, amidst golden fields of wheat ripe for\nharvest. When the Two Kings charged, the Targaryen army shivered and shattered and\nbegan to run. For a few moments, the chroniclers wrote, the conquest was at an\nend . . . but only for those few moments, before Aegon Targaryen and his sisters joined\nthe battle.\n"
## [118] "It was the only time that Vhaghar, Meraxes, and Balerion were all unleashed at once.\nThe singers called it the Field of Fire.\n\nNear four thousand men had burned that day, among them King Mern of the Reach.\nKing Loren had escaped, and lived long enough to surrender, pledge his fealty to the\nTargaryens, and beget a son, for which Tyrion was duly grateful.\n\n“Why do you read so much?”\n\nTyrion looked up at the sound of the voice. Jon Snow was standing a few feet away,\nregarding him curiously. He closed the book on a finger and said, “Look at me and tell\nme what you see.”\n\nThe boy looked at him suspiciously. “Is this some kind of trick? I see you. Tyrion\nLannister.”\n\nTyrion sighed. “You are remarkably polite for a bastard, Snow. What you see is a dwarf.\nYou are what, twelve?”\n\n“Fourteen,” the boy said.\n\n“Fourteen, and you’re taller than I will ever be. My legs are short and twisted, and I walk\nwith difficulty. I require a special saddle to keep from falling off my horse. A saddle of\nmy own design, you may be interested to know. It was either that or ride a pony. My\narms are strong enough, but again, too short. I will never make a swordsman. Had I\nbeen born a peasant, they might have left me out to die, or sold me to some slaver’s\ngrotesquerie. Alas, I was born a Lannister of Casterly Rock, and the grotesqueries are all\nthe poorer. Things are expected of me. My father was the Hand of the King for twenty\nyears. My brother later killed that very same king, as it turns out, but life is full of these\nlittle ironies. My sister married the new king and my repulsive nephew will be king after\nhim. I must do my part for the honor of my House, wouldn’t you agree? Yet how? Well,\nmy legs may be too small for my body, but my head is too large, although I prefer to\nthink it is just large enough for my mind. I have a realistic grasp of my own strengths\nand weaknesses. My mind is my weapon. My brother has his sword, King Robert has his\nwarhammer, and I have my mind . . . and a mind needs books as a sword needs a\nwhetstone, if it is to keep its edge.” Tyrion tapped the leather cover of the book. “That’s\nwhy I read so much, Jon Snow.”\n\nThe boy absorbed that all in silence. He had the Stark face if not the name: long, solemn,\nguarded, a face that gave nothing away. Whoever his mother had been, she had left little\nof herself in her son. “What are you reading about?” he asked.\n"
## [119] "“Dragons,” Tyrion told him.\n\n“What good is that? There are no more dragons,” the boy said with the easy certainty of\nyouth.\n\n“So they say,” Tyrion replied. “Sad, isn’t it? When I was your age, used to dream of\nhaving a dragon of my own.”\n\n“You did?” the boy said suspiciously. Perhaps he thought Tyrion was making fun of him.\n\n“Oh, yes. Even a stunted, twisted, ugly little boy can look down over the world when he’s\nseated on a dragon’s back.” Tyrion pushed the bearskin aside and climbed to his feet. “I\nused to start fires in the bowels of Casterly Rock and stare at the flames for hours,\npretending they were dragonfire. Sometimes I’d imagine my father burning. At other\ntimes, my sister.” Jon Snow was staring at him, a look equal parts horror and\nfascination. Tyrion guffawed. “Don’t look at me that way, bastard. I know your secret.\nYou’ve dreamt the same kind of dreams.”\n\n“No,” Jon Snow said, horrified. “I wouldn’t . . . ”\n\n“No? Never?” Tyrion raised an eyebrow. “Well, no doubt the Starks have been terribly\ngood to you. I’m certain Lady Stark treats you as if you were one of her own. And your\nbrother Robb, he’s always been kind, and why not? He gets Winterfell and you get the\nWall. And your father . . . he must have good reasons for packing you off to the Night’s\nWatch . . . ”\n\n“Stop it,” Jon Snow said, his face dark with anger. “The Night’s Watch is a noble calling!”\n\nTyrion laughed. “You’re too smart to believe that. The Night’s Watch is a midden heap\nfor all the misfits of the realm. I’ve seen you looking at Yoren and his boys. Those are\nyour new brothers, Jon Snow, how do you like them? Sullen peasants, debtors, poachers,\nrapers, thieves, and bastards like you all wind up on the Wall, watching for grumkins\nand snarks and all the other monsters your wet nurse warned you about. The good part\nis there are no grumkins or snarks, so it’s scarcely dangerous work. The bad part is you\nfreeze your balls off, but since you’re not allowed to breed anyway, I don’t suppose that\nmatters.”\n\n“Stop it!” the boy screamed. He took a step forward, his hands coiling into fists, close to\ntears.\n\nSuddenly, absurdly, Tyrion felt guilty. He took a step forward, intending to give the boy a\nreassuring pat on the shoulder or mutter some word of apology.\n"
## [120] "He never saw the wolf, where it was or how it came at him. One moment he was walking\ntoward Snow and the next he was flat on his back on the hard rocky ground, the book\nspinning away from him as he fell, the breath going out of him at the sudden impact, his\nmouth full of dirt and blood and rotting leaves. As he tried to get up, his back spasmed\npainfully. He must have wrenched it in the fall. He ground his teeth in frustration,\ngrabbed a root, and pulled himself back to a sitting position. “Help me,” he said to the\nboy, reaching up a hand.\n\nAnd suddenly the wolf was between them. He did not growl. The damned thing never\nmade a sound. He only looked at him with those bright red eyes, and showed him his\nteeth, and that was more than enough. Tyrion sagged back to the ground with a grunt.\n“Don’t help me, then. I’ll sit right here until you leave.”\n\nJon Snow stroked Ghost’s thick white fur, smiling now. “Ask me nicely.”\n\nTyrion Lannister felt the anger coiling inside him, and crushed it out with a will. It was\nnot the first time in his life he had been humiliated, and it would not be the last. Perhaps\nhe even deserved this. “I should be very grateful for your kind assistance, Jon,” he said\nmildly.\n\n“Down, Ghost,” the boy said. The direwolf sat on his haunches. Those red eyes never left\nTyrion. Jon came around behind him, slid his hands under his arms, and lifted him\neasily to his feet. Then he picked up the book and handed it back.\n\n“Why did he attack me?” Tyrion asked with a sidelong glance at the direwolf. He wiped\nblood and dirt from his mouth with the back of his hand.\n\n“Maybe he thought you were a grumkin.”\n\nTyrion glanced at him sharply. Then he laughed, a raw snort of amusement that came\nbursting out through his nose entirely without his permission. “Oh, gods,” he said,\nchoking on his laughter and shaking his head, “I suppose I do rather look like a grumkin.\nWhat does he do to snarks?”\n\n“You don’t want to know.” Jon picked up the wineskin and handed it to Tyrion.\n\nTyrion pulled out the stopper, tilted his head, and squeezed a long stream into his\nmouth. The wine was cool fire as it trickled down his throat and warmed his belly. He\nheld out the skin to Jon Snow. “Want some?”\n\nThe boy took the skin and tried a cautious swallow. “It’s true, isn’t it?” he said when he\n"
## [121] "was done. “What you said about the Night’s Watch.”\n\nTyrion nodded.\n\nJon Snow set his mouth in a grim line. “If that’s what it is, that’s what it is.”\n\nTyrion grinned at him. “That’s good, bastard. Most men would rather deny a hard truth\nthan face it.”\n\n“Most men,” the boy said. “But not you.”\n\n“No,” Tyrion admitted, “not me. I seldom even dream of dragons anymore. There are no\ndragons.” He scooped up the fallen bearskin. “Come, we had better return to camp\nbefore your uncle calls the banners.”\n\nThe walk was short, but the ground was rough underfoot and his legs were cramping\nbadly by the time they got back. Jon Snow offered a hand to help him over a thick tangle\nof roots, but Tyrion shook him off. He would make his own way, as he had all his life.\nStill, the camp was a welcome sight. The shelters had been thrown up against the\ntumbledown wall of a long-abandoned holdfast, a shield against the wind. The horses\nhad been fed and a fire had been laid. Yoren sat on a stone, skinning a squirrel. The\nsavory smell of stew filled Tyrion’s nostrils. He dragged himself over to where his man\nMorrec was tending the stewpot. Wordlessly, Morrec handed him the ladle. Tyrion\ntasted and handed it back. “More pepper,” he said.\n\nBenjen Stark emerged from the shelter he shared with his nephew. “There you are. Jon,\ndamn it, don’t go off like that by yourself. I thought the Others had gotten you.”\n\n“It was the grumkins,” Tyrion told him, laughing. Jon Snow smiled. Stark shot a baffled\nlook at Yoren. The old man grunted, shrugged, and went back to his bloody work.\n\nThe squirrel gave some body to the stew, and they ate it with black bread and hard\ncheese that night around their fire. Tyrion shared around his skin of wine until even\nYoren grew mellow. One by one the company drifted off to their shelters and to sleep, all\nbut Jon Snow, who had drawn the night’s first watch.\n\nTyrion was the last to retire, as always. As he stepped into the shelter his men had built\nfor him, he paused and looked back at Jon Snow. The boy stood near the fire, his face\nstill and hard, looking deep into the flames.\n\nTyrion Lannister smiled sadly and went to bed.\n"
## [122] "previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [123] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n CATELYN\nNed and the girls were eight days gone when Maester Luwin came to her one night in\nBran’s sickroom, carrying a reading lamp and the books of account. “It is past time that\nwe reviewed the figures, my lady,” he said. “You’ll want to know how much this royal\nvisit cost us.”\n\nCatelyn looked at Bran in his sickbed and brushed his hair back off his forehead. It had\ngrown very long, she realized. She would have to cut it soon. “I have no need to look at\nfigures, Maester Luwin,” she told him, never taking her eyes from Bran. “I know what\nthe visit cost us. Take the books away.”\n\n“My lady, the king’s party had healthy appetites. We must replenish our stores before—”\n\nShe cut him off. “I said, take the books away. The steward will attend to our needs.”\n\n“We have no steward,” Maester Luwin reminded her. Like a little grey rat, she thought,\nhe would not let go. “Poole went south to establish Lord Eddard’s household at King’s\nLanding.”\n\nCatelyn nodded absently. “Oh, yes. I remember.” Bran looked so pale. She wondered\nwhether they might move his bed under the window, so he could get the morning sun.\n\nMaester Luwin set the lamp in a niche by the door and fiddled with its wick. “There are\nseveral appointments that require your immediate attention, my lady. Besides the\nsteward, we need a captain of the guards to fill Jory’s place, a new master of horse—”\n\nHer eyes snapped around and found him. “A master of horse?” Her voice was a whip.\n\nThe maester was shaken. “Yes, my lady. Hullen rode south with Lord Eddard, so—”\n\n“My son lies here broken and dying, Luwin, and you wish to discuss a new master of\nhorse? Do you think I care what happens in the stables? Do you think it matters to me\none whit? I would gladly butcher every horse in Winterfell with my own hands if it would\nopen Bran’s eyes, do you understand that? Do you?”\n\nHe bowed his head. “Yes, my lady, but the appointments—”\n"
## [124] "“I’ll make the appointments,” Robb said.\n\nCatelyn had not heard him enter, but there he stood in the doorway, looking at her. She\nhad been shouting, she realized with a sudden flush of shame. What was happening to\nher? She was so tired, and her head hurt all the time.\n\nMaester Luwin looked from Catelyn to her son. “I have prepared a list of those we might\nwish to consider for the vacant offices,” he said, offering Robb a paper plucked from his\nsleeve.\n\nHer son glanced at the names. He had come from outside, Catelyn saw; his cheeks were\nred from the cold, his hair shaggy and windblown. “Good men,” he said. “We’ll talk\nabout them tomorrow.” He handed back the list of names.\n\n“Very good, my lord.” The paper vanished into his sleeve.\n\n“Leave us now,” Robb said. Maester Luwin bowed and departed. Robb closed the door\nbehind him and turned to her. He was wearing a sword, she saw. “Mother, what are you\ndoing?”\n\nCatelyn had always thought Robb looked like her; like Bran and Rickon and Sansa, he\nhad the Tully coloring, the auburn hair, the blue eyes. Yet now for the first time she saw\nsomething of Eddard Stark in his face, something as stern and hard as the north. “What\nam I doing?” she echoed, puzzled. “How can you ask that? What do you imagine I’m\ndoing? I am taking care of your brother. I am taking care of Bran.”\n\n“Is that what you call it? You haven’t left this room since Bran was hurt. You didn’t even\ncome to the gate when Father and the girls went south.”\n\n“I said my farewells to them here, and watched them ride out from that window.” She\nhad begged Ned not to go, not now, not after what had happened; everything had\nchanged now, couldn’t he see that? It was no use. He had no choice, he had told her, and\nthen he left, choosing. “I can’t leave him, even for a moment, not when any moment\ncould be his last. I have to be with him, if . . . if . . . ” She took her son’s limp hand, sliding\nhis fingers through her own. He was so frail and thin, with no strength left in his hand,\nbut she could still feel the warmth of life through his skin.\n\nRobb’s voice softened. “He’s not going to die, Mother. Maester Luwin says the time of\ngreatest danger has passed.”\n\n“And what if Maester Luwin is wrong? What if Bran needs me and I’m not here?”\n"
## [125] "“Rickon needs you,” Robb said sharply. “He’s only three, he doesn’t understand what’s\nhappening. He thinks everyone has deserted him, so he follows me around all day,\nclutching my leg and crying. I don’t know what to do with him.” He paused a moment,\nchewing on his lower lip the way he’d done when he was little. “Mother, I need you too.\nI’m trying but I can’t . . . I can’t do it all by myself.” His voice broke with sudden\nemotion, and Catelyn remembered that he was only fourteen. She wanted to get up and\ngo to him, but Bran was still holding her hand and she could not move.\n\nOutside the tower, a wolf began to howl. Catelyn trembled, just for a second.\n\n“Bran’s.” Robb opened the window and let the night air into the stuffy tower room. The\nhowling grew louder. It was a cold and lonely sound, full of melancholy and despair.\n\n“Don’t,” she told him. “Bran needs to stay warm.”\n\n“He needs to hear them sing,” Robb said. Somewhere out in Winterfell, a second wolf\nbegan to howl in chorus with the first. Then a third, closer. “Shaggydog and Grey Wind,”\nRobb said as their voices rose and fell together. “You can tell them apart if you listen\nclose.”\n\nCatelyn was shaking. It was the grief, the cold, the howling of the direwolves. Night after\nnight, the howling and the cold wind and the grey empty castle, on and on they went,\nnever changing, and her boy lying there broken, the sweetest of her children, the\ngentlest, Bran who loved to laugh and climb and dreamt of knighthood, all gone now,\nshe would never hear him laugh again. Sobbing, she pulled her hand free of his and\ncovered her ears against those terrible howls. “Make them stop!” she cried. “I can’t stand\nit, make them stop, make them stop, kill them all if you must, just make them stop!”\n\nShe didn’t remember falling to the floor, but there she was, and Robb was lifting her,\nholding her in strong arms. “Don’t be afraid, Mother. They would never hurt him.” He\nhelped her to her narrow bed in the corner of the sickroom. “Close your eyes,” he said\ngently. “Rest. Maester Luwin tells me you’ve hardly slept since Bran’s fall.”\n\n“I can’t,” she wept. “Gods forgive me, Robb, I can’t, what if he dies while I’m asleep,\nwhat if he dies, what if he dies . . . ” The wolves were still howling. She screamed and\nheld her ears again. “Oh, gods, close the window!”\n\n“If you swear to me you’ll sleep.” Robb went to the window, but as he reached for the\nshutters another sound was added to the mournful howling of the direwolves. “Dogs,” he\nsaid, listening. “All the dogs are barking. They’ve never done that before . . . ” Catelyn\nheard his breath catch in his throat. When she looked up, his face was pale in the\n"
## [126] "lamplight. “Fire,” he whispered.\n\nFire, she thought, and then, Bran! “Help me,” she said urgently, sitting up. “Help me\nwith Bran.”\n\nRobb did not seem to hear her. “The library tower’s on fire,” he said.\n\nCatelyn could see the flickering reddish light through the open window now. She sagged\nwith relief. Bran was safe. The library was across the bailey, there was no way the fire\nwould reach them here. “Thank the gods,” she whispered.\n\nRobb looked at her as if she’d gone mad. “Mother, stay here. I’ll come back as soon as\nthe fire’s out.” He ran then. She heard him shout to the guards outside the room, heard\nthem descending together in a wild rush, taking the stairs two and three at a time.\n\nOutside, there were shouts of “Fire!” in the yard, screams, running footsteps, the whinny\nof frightened horses, and the frantic barking of the castle dogs. The howling was gone,\nshe realized as she listened to the cacophony. The direwolves had fallen silent.\n\nCatelyn said a silent prayer of thanks to the seven faces of god as she went to the\nwindow. Across the bailey, long tongues of flame shot from the windows of the library.\nShe watched the smoke rise into the sky and thought sadly of all the books the Starks\nhad gathered over the centuries. Then she closed the shutters.\n\nWhen she turned away from the window, the man was in the room with her.\n\n“You weren’t s’posed to be here,” he muttered sourly. “No one was s’posed to be here.”\n\nHe was a small, dirty man in filthy brown clothing, and he stank of horses. Catelyn knew\nall the men who worked in their stables, and he was none of them. He was gaunt, with\nlimp blond hair and pale eyes deep-sunk in a bony face, and there was a dagger in his\nhand.\n\nCatelyn looked at the knife, then at Bran. “No,” she said. The word stuck in her throat,\nthe merest whisper.\n\nHe must have heard her. “It’s a mercy,” he said. “He’s dead already.”\n\n“No,” Catelyn said, louder now as she found her voice again. “No, you can’t.” She spun\nback toward the window to scream for help, but the man moved faster than she would\nhave believed. One hand clamped down over her mouth and yanked back her head, the\nother brought the dagger up to her windpipe. The stench of him was overwhelming.\n"
## [127] "She reached up with both hands and grabbed the blade with all her strength, pulling it\naway from her throat. She heard him cursing into her ear. Her fingers were slippery with\nblood, but she would not let go of the dagger. The hand over her mouth clenched more\ntightly, shutting off her air. Catelyn twisted her head to the side and managed to get a\npiece of his flesh between her teeth. She bit down hard into his palm. The man grunted\nin pain. She ground her teeth together and tore at him, and all of a sudden he let go. The\ntaste of his blood filled her mouth. She sucked in air and screamed, and he grabbed her\nhair and pulled her away from him, and she stumbled and went down, and then he was\nstanding over her, breathing hard, shaking. The dagger was still clutched tightly in his\nright hand, slick with blood. “You weren’t s’posed to be here,” he repeated stupidly.\n\nCatelyn saw the shadow slip through the open door behind him. There was a low rumble,\nless than a snarl, the merest whisper of a threat, but he must have heard something,\nbecause he started to turn just as the wolf made its leap. They went down together, half\nsprawled over Catelyn where she’d fallen. The wolf had him under the jaw. The man’s\nshriek lasted less than a second before the beast wrenched back its head, taking out half\nhis throat.\n\nHis blood felt like warm rain as it sprayed across her face.\n\nThe wolf was looking at her. Its jaws were red and wet and its eyes glowed golden in the\ndark room. It was Bran’s wolf, she realized. Of course it was. “Thank you,” Catelyn\nwhispered, her voice faint and tiny. She lifted her hand, trembling. The wolf padded\ncloser, sniffed at her fingers, then licked at the blood with a wet rough tongue. When it\nhad cleaned all the blood off her hand, it turned away silently and jumped up on Bran’s\nbed and lay down beside him. Catelyn began to laugh hysterically.\n\nThat was the way they found them, when Robb and Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrik burst\nin with half the guards in Winterfell. When the laughter finally died in her throat, they\nwrapped her in warm blankets and led her back to the Great Keep, to her own chambers.\nOld Nan undressed her and helped her into a scalding hot bath and washed the blood off\nher with a soft cloth.\n\nAfterward Maester Luwin arrived to dress her wounds. The cuts in her fingers went\ndeep, almost to the bone, and her scalp was raw and bleeding where he’d pulled out a\nhandful of hair. The maester told her the pain was just starting now, and gave her milk\nof the poppy to help her sleep.\n\nFinally she closed her eyes.\n\nWhen she opened them again, they told her that she had slept four days. Catelyn nodded\n"
## [128] "and sat up in bed. It all seemed like a nightmare to her now, everything since Bran’s fall,\na terrible dream of blood and grief, but she had the pain in her hands to remind her that\nit was real. She felt weak and light-headed, yet strangely resolute, as if a great weight had\nlifted from her.\n\n“Bring me some bread and honey,” she told her servants, “and take word to Maester\nLuwin that my bandages want changing.” They looked at her in surprise and ran to do\nher bidding.\n\nCatelyn remembered the way she had been before, and she was ashamed. She had let\nthem all down, her children, her husband, her House. It would not happen again. She\nwould show these northerners how strong a Tully of Riverrun could be.\n\nRobb arrived before her food. Rodrik Cassel came with him, and her husband’s ward\nTheon Greyjoy, and lastly Hallis Mollen, a muscular guardsman with a square brown\nbeard. He was the new captain of the guard, Robb said. Her son was dressed in boiled\nleather and ringmail, she saw, and a sword hung at his waist.\n\n“Who was he?” Catelyn asked them.\n\n“No one knows his name,” Hallis Mollen told her. “He was no man of Winterfell, m’lady,\nbut some says they seen him here and about the castle these past few weeks.”\n\n“One of the king’s men, then,” she said, “or one of the Lannisters’. He could have waited\nbehind when the others left.”\n\n“Maybe,” Hal said. “With all these strangers filling up Winterfell of late, there’s no way\nof saying who he belonged to.”\n\n“He’d been hiding in your stables,” Greyjoy said. “You could smell it on him.”\n\n“And how could he go unnoticed?” she said sharply.\n\nHallis Mollen looked abashed. “Between the horses Lord Eddard took south and them\nwe sent north to the Night’s Watch, the stalls were half-empty. It were no great trick to\nhide from the stableboys. Could be Hodor saw him, the talk is that boy’s been acting\nqueer, but simple as he is . . . ” Hal shook his head.\n\n“We found where he’d been sleeping,” Robb put in. “He had ninety silver stags in a\nleather bag buried beneath the straw.”\n\n“It’s good to know my son’s life was not sold cheaply,” Catelyn said bitterly.\n"
## [129] "Hallis Mollen looked at her, confused. “Begging your grace, m’lady, you saying he was\nout to kill your boy?”\n\nGreyjoy was doubtful. “That’s madness.”\n\n“He came for Bran,” Catelyn said. “He kept muttering how I wasn’t supposed to be there.\nHe set the library fire thinking I would rush to put it out, taking any guards with me. If I\nhadn’t been half-mad with grief, it would have worked.”\n\n“Why would anyone want to kill Bran?” Robb said. “Gods, he’s only a little boy, helpless,\nsleeping . . . ”\n\nCatelyn gave her firstborn a challenging look. “If you are to rule in the north, you must\nthink these things through, Robb. Answer your own question. Why would anyone want\nto kill a sleeping child?”\n\nBefore he could answer, the servants returned with a plate of food fresh from the\nkitchen. There was much more than she’d asked for: hot bread, butter and honey and\nblackberry preserves, a rasher of bacon and a soft-boiled egg, a wedge of cheese, a pot of\nmint tea. And with it came Maester Luwin.\n\n“How is my son, Maester?” Catelyn looked at all the food and found she had no appetite.\n\nMaester Luwin lowered his eyes. “Unchanged, my lady.”\n\nIt was the reply she had expected, no more and no less. Her hands throbbed with pain,\nas if the blade were still in her, cutting deep. She sent the servants away and looked back\nto Robb. “Do you have the answer yet?”\n\n“Someone is afraid Bran might wake up,” Robb said, “afraid of what he might say or do,\nafraid of something he knows.”\n\nCatelyn was proud of him. “Very good.” She turned to the new captain of the guard. “We\nmust keep Bran safe. If there was one killer, there could be others.”\n\n“How many guards do you want, rn’lady?” Hal asked.\n\n“So long as Lord Eddard is away, my son is the master of Winterfell,” she told him.\n\nRobb stood a little taller. “Put one man in the sickroom, night and day, one outside the\n"
## [130] "door, two at the bottom of the stairs. No one sees Bran without my warrant or my\nmother’s.”\n\n“As you say, m’lord.”\n\n“Do it now,” Catelyn suggested.\n\n“And let his wolf stay in the room with him,” Robb added.\n\n“Yes,” Catelyn said. And then again: “Yes.”\n\nHallis Mollen bowed and left the room.\n\n“Lady Stark,” Ser Rodrik said when the guardsman had gone, “did you chance to notice\nthe dagger the killer used?”\n\n“The circumstances did not allow me to examine it closely, but I can vouch for its edge,”\nCatelyn replied with a dry smile. “Why do you ask?”\n\n“We found the knife still in the villain’s grasp. It seemed to me that it was altogether too\nfine a weapon for such a man, so I looked at it long and hard. The blade is Valyrian steel,\nthe hilt dragonbone. A weapon like that has no business being in the hands of such as\nhim. Someone gave it to him.”\n\nCatelyn nodded, thoughtful. “Robb, close the door.”\n\nHe looked at her strangely, but did as she told him.\n\n“What I am about to tell you must not leave this room,” she told them. “I want your\noaths on that. If even part of what I suspect is true, Ned and my girls have ridden into\ndeadly danger, and a word in the wrong ears could mean their lives.”\n\n“Lord Eddard is a second father to me,” said Theon Greyjoy. “I do so swear.”\n\n“You have my oath,” Maester Luwin said.\n\n“And mine, my lady,” echoed Ser Rodrik.\n\nShe looked at her son. “And you, Robb?”\n\nHe nodded his consent.\n"
## [131] "“My sister Lysa believes the Lannisters murdered her husband, Lord Arryn, the Hand of\nthe King,” Catelyn told them. “It comes to me that Jaime Lannister did not join the hunt\nthe day Bran fell. He remained here in the castle.” The room was deathly quiet. “I do not\nthink Bran fell from that tower,” she said into the stillness. “I think he was thrown.”\n\nThe shock was plain on their faces. “My lady, that is a monstrous suggestion,” said\nRodrik Cassel. “Even the Kingslayer would flinch at the murder of an innocent child.”\n\n“Oh, would he?” Theon Greyjoy asked. “I wonder.”\n\n“There is no limit to Lannister pride or Lannister ambition,” Catelyn said.\n\n“The boy had always been surehanded in the past,” Maester Luwin said thoughtfully.\n“He knew every stone in Winterfell.”\n\n“Gods,” Robb swore, his young face dark with anger. “If this is true, he will pay for it.”\nHe drew his sword and waved it in the air. “I’ll kill him myself!”\n\nSer Rodrik bristled at him. “Put that away! The Lannisters are a hundred leagues away.\nNever draw your sword unless you mean to use it. How many times must I tell you,\nfoolish boy?”\n\nAbashed, Robb sheathed his sword, suddenly a child again. Catelyn said to Ser Rodrik, “I\nsee my son is wearing steel now.”\n\nThe old master-at-arms said, “I thought it was time.”\n\nRobb was looking at her anxiously. “Past time,” she said. “Winterfell may have need of\nall its swords soon, and they had best not be made of wood.”\n\nTheon Greyjoy put a hand on the hilt of his blade and said, “My lady, if it comes to that,\nmy House owes yours a great debt.”\n\nMaester Luwin pulled at his chain collar where it chafed against his neck. “All we have is\nconjecture. This is the queen’s beloved brother we mean to accuse. She will not take it\nkindly. We must have proof, or forever keep silent.”\n\n“Your proof is in the dagger,” Ser Rodrik said. “A fine blade like that will not have gone\nunnoticed.”\n\nThere was only one place to find the truth of it, Catelyn realized. “Someone must go to\n"
## [132] "King’s Landing.”\n\n“I’ll go,” Robb said.\n\n“No,” she told him. “Your place is here. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell.” She\nlooked at Ser Rodrik with his great white whiskers, at Maester Luwin in his grey robes,\nat young Greyjoy, lean and dark and impetuous. Who to send? Who would be believed?\nThen she knew. Catelyn struggled to push back the blankets, her bandaged fingers as\nstiff and unyielding as stone. She climbed out of bed. “I must go myself.”\n\n“My lady,” said Maester Luwin, “is that wise? Surely the Lannisters would greet your\narrival with suspicion.”\n\n“What about Bran?” Robb asked. The poor boy looked utterly confused now. “You can’t\nmean to leave him.”\n\n“I have done everything I can for Bran,” she said, laying a wounded hand on his arm.\n“His life is in the hands of the gods and Maester Luwin. As you reminded me yourself,\nRobb, I have other children to think of now.”\n\n“You will need a strong escort, my lady,” Theon said.\n\n“I’ll send Hal with a squad of guardsmen,” Robb said.\n\n“No,” Catelyn said. “A large party attracts unwelcome attention. I would not have the\nLannisters know I am coming.”\n\nSer Rodrik protested. “My lady, let me accompany you at least. The kingsroad can be\nperilous for a woman alone.”\n\n“I will not be taking the kingsroad,” Catelyn replied. She thought for a moment, then\nnodded her consent. “Two riders can move as fast as one, and a good deal faster than a\nlong column burdened by wagons and wheelhouses. I will welcome your company, Ser\nRodrik. We will follow the White Knife down to the sea, and hire a ship at White Harbor.\nStrong horses and brisk winds should bring us to King’s Landing well ahead of Ned and\nthe Lannisters.” And then, she thought, we shall see what we shall see.\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [133] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n SANSA\nEddard Stark had left before dawn, Septa Mordane informed Sansa as they broke their\nfast. “The king sent for him. Another hunt, I do believe. There are still wild aurochs in\nthese lands, I am told.”\n\n“I’ve never seen an aurochs,” Sansa said, feeding a piece of bacon to Lady under the\ntable. The direwolf took it from her hand, as delicate as a queen.\n\nSepta Mordane sniffed in disapproval. “A noble lady does not feed dogs at her table,” she\nsaid, breaking off another piece of comb and letting the honey drip down onto her bread.\n\n“She’s not a dog, she’s a direwolf,” Sansa pointed out as Lady licked her fingers with a\nrough tongue. “Anyway, Father said we could keep them with us if we want.”\n\nThe septa was not appeased. “You’re a good girl, Sansa, but I do vow, when it comes to\nthat creature you’re as willful as your sister Arya.” She scowled. “And where is Arya this\nmorning?”\n\n“She wasn’t hungry,” Sansa said, knowing full well that her sister had probably stolen\ndown to the kitchen hours ago and wheedled a breakfast out of some cook’s boy.\n\n“Do remind her to dress nicely today. The grey velvet, perhaps. We are all invited to ride\nwith the queen and Princess Myrcella in the royal wheelhouse, and we must look our\nbest.”\n\nSansa already looked her best. She had brushed out her long auburn hair until it shone,\nand picked her nicest blue silks. She had been looking forward to today for more than a\nweek. It was a great honor to ride with the queen, and besides, Prince Joffrey might be\nthere. Her betrothed. Just thinking it made her feel a strange fluttering inside, even\nthough they were not to marry for years and years. Sansa did not really know Joffrey yet,\nbut she was already in love with him. He was all she ever dreamt her prince should be,\ntall and handsome and strong, with hair like gold. She treasured every chance to spend\ntime with him, few as they were. The only thing that scared her about today was Arya.\nArya had a way of ruining everything. You never knew what she would do. “I’ll tell her,”\nSansa said uncertainly, “but she’ll dress the way she always does.” She hoped it wouldn’t\nbe too embarrassing. “May I be excused?”\n"
## [134] "“You may.” Septa Mordane helped herself to more bread and honey, and Sansa slid from\nthe bench. Lady followed at her heels as she ran from the inn’s common room.\n\nOutside, she stood for a moment amidst the shouts and curses and the creak of wooden\nwheels as the men broke down the tents and pavilions and loaded the wagons for\nanother day’s march. The inn was a sprawling three-story structure of pale stone, the\nbiggest that Sansa had ever seen, but even so, it had accommodations for less than a\nthird of the king’s party, which had swollen to more than four hundred with the addition\nof her father’s household and the freeriders who had joined them on the road.\n\nShe found Arya on the banks of the Trident, trying to hold Nymeria still while she\nbrushed dried mud from her fur. The direwolf was not enjoying the process. Arya was\nwearing the same riding leathers she had worn yesterday and the day before.\n\n“You better put on something pretty,” Sansa told her. “Septa Mordane said so. We’re\ntraveling in the queen’s wheelhouse with Princess Myrcella today.”\n\n“I’m not,” Arya said, trying to brush a tangle out of Nymeria’s matted grey fur. “Mycah\nand I are going to ride upstream and look for rubies at the ford.”\n\n“Rubies,” Sansa said, lost. “What rubies?”\n\nArya gave her a look like she was so stupid. “Rhaegar’s rubies. This is where King Robert\nkilled him and won the crown.”\n\nSansa regarded her scrawny little sister in disbelief. “You can’t look for rubies, the\nprincess is expecting us. The queen invited us both.”\n\n“I don’t care,” Arya said. “The wheelhouse doesn’t even have windows, you can’t see a\nthing.”\n\n“What could you want to see?” Sansa said, annoyed. She had been thrilled by the\ninvitation, and her stupid sister was going to ruin everything, just as she’d feared. “It’s\nall just fields and farms and holdfasts.”\n\n“It is not,” Arya said stubbornly. “If you came with us sometimes, you’d see.”\n\n“I hate riding,” Sansa said fervently. “All it does is get you soiled and dusty and sore.”\n\nArya shrugged. “Hold still,” she snapped at Nymeria, “I’m not hurting you.” Then to\nSansa she said, “When we were crossing the Neck, I counted thirty-six flowers I never\n"
## [135] "saw before, and Mycah showed me a lizard-lion.”\n\nSansa shuddered. They had been twelve days crossing the Neck, rumbling down a\ncrooked causeway through an endless black bog, and she had hated every moment of it.\nThe air had been damp and clammy, the causeway so narrow they could not even make\nproper camp at night, they had to stop right on the kingsroad. Dense thickets of half-\ndrowned trees pressed close around them, branches dripping with curtains of pale\nfungus. Huge flowers bloomed in the mud and floated on pools of stagnant water, but if\nyou were stupid enough to leave the causeway to pluck them, there were quicksands\nwaiting to suck you down, and snakes watching from the trees, and lizard-lions floating\nhalf-submerged in the water, like black logs with eyes and teeth.\n\nNone of which stopped Arya, of course. One day she came back grinning her horsey grin,\nher hair all tangled and her clothes covered in mud, clutching a raggedy bunch of purple\nand green flowers for Father. Sansa kept hoping he would tell Arya to behave herself and\nact like the highborn lady she was supposed to be, but he never did, he only hugged her\nand thanked her for the flowers. That just made her worse.\n\nThen it turned out the purple flowers were called poison kisses, and Arya got a rash on\nher arms. Sansa would have thought that might have taught her a lesson, but Arya\nlaughed about it, and the next day she rubbed mud all over her arms like some ignorant\nbog woman just because her friend Mycah told her it would stop the itching. She had\nbruises on her arms and shoulders too, dark purple welts and faded green-and-yellow\nsplotches, Sansa had seen them when her sister undressed for sleep. How she had gotten\nthose only the seven gods knew.\n\nArya was still going on, brushing out Nymeria’s tangles and chattering about things\nshe’d seen on the trek south. “Last week we found this haunted watchtower, and the day\nbefore we chased a herd of wild horses. You should have seen them run when they\ncaught a scent of Nymeria.” The wolf wriggled in her grasp and Arya scolded her. “Stop\nthat, I have to do the other side, you’re all muddy.”\n\n“You’re not supposed to leave the column,” Sansa reminded her. “Father said so.”\n\nArya shrugged. “I didn’t go far. Anyway, Nymeria was with me the whole time. I don’t\nalways go off, either. Sometimes it’s fun just to ride along with the wagons and talk to\npeople.”\n\nSansa knew all about the sorts of people Arya liked to talk to: squires and grooms and\nserving girls, old men and naked children, rough-spoken freeriders of uncertain birth.\nArya would make friends with anybody. This Mycah was the worst; a butcher’s boy,\nthirteen and wild, he slept in the meat wagon and smelled of the slaughtering block. Just\n"
## [136] "the sight of him was enough to make Sansa feel sick, but Arya seemed to prefer his\ncompany to hers.\n\nSansa was running out of patience now. “You have to come with me,” she told her sister\nfirmly. “You can’t refuse the queen. Septa Mordane will expect you.”\n\nArya ignored her. She gave a hard yank with the brush. Nymeria growled and spun away,\naffronted. “Come back here!”\n\n“There’s going to be lemon cakes and tea,” Sansa went on, all adult and reasonable. Lady\nbrushed against her leg. Sansa scratched her ears the way she liked, and Lady sat beside\nher on her haunches, watching Arya chase Nymeria. “Why would you want to ride a\nsmelly old horse and get all sore and sweaty when you could recline on feather pillows\nand eat cakes with the queen?”\n\n“I don’t like the queen,” Arya said casually. Sansa sucked in her breath, shocked that\neven Arya would say such a thing, but her sister prattled on, heedless. “She won’t even\nlet me bring Nymeria.” She thrust the brush under her belt and stalked her wolf.\nNymeria watched her approach warily.\n\n“A royal wheelhouse is no place for a wolf,” Sansa said. “And Princess Myrcella is afraid\nof them, you know that.”\n\n“Myrcella is a little baby.” Arya grabbed Nymeria around her neck, but the moment she\npulled out the brush again the direwolf wriggled free and bounded off. Frustrated, Arya\nthrew down the brush. “Bad wolf!” she shouted.\n\nSansa couldn’t help but smile a little. The kennelmaster once told her that an animal\ntakes after its master. She gave Lady a quick little hug. Lady licked her cheek. Sansa\ngiggled. Arya heard and whirled around, glaring. “I don’t care what you say, I’m going\nout riding.” Her long horsey face got the stubborn look that meant she was going to do\nsomething willful.\n\n“Gods be true, Arya, sometimes you act like such a child,” Sansa said. “I’ll go by myself\nthen. It will be ever so much nicer that way. Lady and I will eat all the lemon cakes and\njust have the best time without you.”\n\nShe turned to walk off, but Arya shouted after her, “They won’t let you bring Lady\neither.” She was gone before Sansa could think of a reply, chasing Nymeria along the\nriver.\n\nAlone and humiliated, Sansa took the long way back to the inn, where she knew Septa\n"
## [137] "Mordane would be waiting. Lady padded quietly by her side. She was almost in tears. All\nshe wanted was for things to be nice and pretty, the way they were in the songs. Why\ncouldn’t Arya be sweet and delicate and kind, like Princess Myrcella? She would have\nliked a sister like that.\n\nSansa could never understand how two sisters, born only two years apart, could be so\ndifferent. It would have been easier if Arya had been a bastard, like their half brother\nJon. She even looked like Jon, with the long face and brown hair of the Starks, and\nnothing of their lady mother in her face or her coloring. And Jon’s mother had been\ncommon, or so people whispered. Once, when she was littler, Sansa had even asked\nMother if perhaps there hadn’t been some mistake. Perhaps the grumkins had stolen her\nreal sister. But Mother had only laughed and said no, Arya was her daughter and Sansa’s\ntrueborn sister, blood of their blood. Sansa could not think why Mother would want to\nlie about it, so she supposed it had to be true.\n\nAs she neared the center of camp, her distress was quickly forgotten. A crowd had\ngathered around the queen’s wheelhouse. Sansa heard excited voices buzzing like a hive\nof bees. The doors had been thrown open, she saw, and the queen stood at the top of the\nwooden steps, smiling down at someone. She heard her saying, “The council does us\ngreat honor, my good lords.”\n\n“What’s happening?” she asked a squire she knew.\n\n“The council sent riders from King’s Landing to escort us the rest of the way,” he told\nher. “An honor guard for the king.”\n\nAnxious to see, Sansa let Lady clear a path through the crowd. People moved aside\nhastily for the direwolf. When she got closer, she saw two knights kneeling before the\nqueen, in armor so fine and gorgeous that it made her blink.\n\nOne knight wore an intricate suit of white enameled scales, brilliant as a field of new-\nfallen snow, with silver chasings and clasps that glittered in the sun. When he removed\nhis helm, Sansa saw that he was an old man with hair as pale as his armor, yet he\nseemed strong and graceful for all that. From his shoulders hung the pure white cloak of\nthe Kingsguard.\n\nHis companion was a man near twenty whose armor was steel plate of a deep forest-\ngreen. He was the handsomest man Sansa had ever set eyes upon; tall and powerfully\nmade, with jet-black hair that fell to his shoulders and framed a clean-shaven face, and\nlaughing green eyes to match his armor. Cradled under one arm was an antlered helm,\nits magnificent rack shimmering in gold.\n"
## [138] "At first Sansa did not notice the third stranger. He did not kneel with the others. He\nstood to one side, beside their horses, a gaunt grim man who watched the proceedings in\nsilence. His face was pockmarked and beardless, with deepset eyes and hollow cheeks.\nThough he was not an old man, only a few wisps of hair remained to him, sprouting\nabove his ears, but those he had grown long as a woman’s. His armor was iron-grey\nchainmail over layers of boiled leather, plain and unadorned, and it spoke of age and\nhard use. Above his right shoulder the stained leather hilt of the blade strapped to his\nback was visible; a two-handed greatsword, too long to be worn at his side.\n\n“The king is gone hunting, but I know he will be pleased to see you when he returns,” the\nqueen was saying to the two knights who knelt before her, but Sansa could not take her\neyes off the third man. He seemed to feel the weight of her gaze. Slowly he turned his\nhead. Lady growled. A terror as overwhelming as anything Sansa Stark had ever felt\nfilled her suddenly. She stepped backward and bumped into someone.\n\nStrong hands grasped her by the shoulders, and for a moment Sansa thought it was her\nfather, but when she turned, it was the burned face of Sandor Clegane looking down at\nher, his mouth twisted in a terrible mockery of a smile. “You are shaking, girl,” he said,\nhis voice rasping. “Do I frighten you so much?”\n\nHe did, and had since she had first laid eyes on the ruin that fire had made of his face,\nthough it seemed to her now that he was not half so terrifying as the other. Still, Sansa\nwrenched away from him, and the Hound laughed, and Lady moved between them,\nrumbling a warning. Sansa dropped to her knees to wrap her arms around the wolf. They\nwere all gathered around gaping, she could feel their eyes on her, and here and there she\nheard muttered comments and titters of laughter.\n\n“A wolf,” a man said, and someone else said, “Seven hells, that’s a direwolf,” and the first\nman said, “What’s it doing in camp?” and the Hound’s rasping voice replied, “The Starks\nuse them for wet nurses,” and Sansa realized that the two stranger knights were looking\ndown on her and Lady, swords in their hands, and then she was frightened again, and\nashamed. Tears filled her eyes.\n\nShe heard the queen say, “Joffrey, go to her.”\n\nAnd her prince was there.\n\n“Leave her alone,” Joffrey said. He stood over her, beautiful in blue wool and black\nleather, his golden curls shining in the sun like a crown. He gave her his hand, drew her\nto her feet. “What is it, sweet lady? Why are you afraid? No one will hurt you. Put away\nyour swords, all of you. The wolf is her little pet, that’s all.” He looked at Sandor Clegane.\n“And you, dog, away with you, you’re scaring my betrothed.”\n"
## [139] "The Hound, ever faithful, bowed and slid away quietly through the press. Sansa\nstruggled to steady herself. She felt like such a fool. She was a Stark of Winterfell, a\nnoble lady, and someday she would be a queen. “It was not him, my sweet prince,” she\ntried to explain. “It was the other one.”\n\nThe two stranger knights exchanged a look. “Payne?” chuckled the young man in the\ngreen armor.\n\nThe older man in white spoke to Sansa gently. “Ofttimes Ser Ilyn frightens me as well,\nsweet lady. He has a fearsome aspect.”\n\n“As well he should.” The queen had descended from the wheelhouse. The spectators\nparted to make way for her. “If the wicked do not fear the Mng’s Justice, you have put\nthe wrong man in the office.”\n\nSansa finally found her words. “Then surely you have chosen the right one, Your Grace,”\nshe said, and a gale of laughter erupted all around her.\n\n“Well spoken, child,” said the old man in white. “As befits the daughter of Eddard Stark.\nI am honored to know you, however irregular the manner of our meeting. I am Ser\nBarristan Selmy, of the Kingsguard.” He bowed.\n\nSansa knew the name, and now the courtesies that Septa Mordane had taught her over\nthe years came back to her. “The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard,” she said, “and\ncouncillor to Robert our king and to Aerys Targaryen before him. The honor is mine,\ngood knight. Even in the far north, the singers praise the deeds of Barristan the Bold.”\n\nThe green knight laughed again. “Barristan the Old, you mean. Don’t flatter him too\nsweetly, child, he thinks overmuch of himself already.” He smiled at her. “Now, wolf girl,\nif you can put a name to me as well, then I must concede that you are truly our Hand’s\ndaughter.”\n\nJoffrey stiffened beside her. “Have a care how you address my betrothed.”\n\n“I can answer,” Sansa said quickly, to quell her prince’s anger. She smiled at the green\nknight. “Your helmet bears golden antlers, my lord. The stag is the sigil of the royal\nHouse. King Robert has two brothers. By your extreme youth, you can only be Renly\nBaratheon, Lord of Storm’s End and councillor to the king, and so I name you.”\n\nSer Barristan chuckled. “By his extreme youth, he can only be a prancing jackanapes,\nand so I name him.”\n"
## [140] "There was general laughter, led by Lord Renly himself. The tension of a few moments\nago was gone, and Sansa was beginning to feel comfortable . . . until Ser Ilyn Payne\nshouldered two men aside, and stood before her, unsmiling. He did not say a word. Lady\nbared her teeth and began to growl, a low rumble full of menace, but this time Sansa\nsilenced the wolf with a gentle hand to the head. “I am sorry if I offended you, Ser Ilyn,”\nshe said.\n\nShe waited for an answer, but none came. As the headsman looked at her, his pale\ncolorless eyes seemed to strip the clothes away from her, and then the skin, leaving her\nsoul naked before him. Still silent, he turned and walked away.\n\nSansa did not understand. She looked at her prince. “Did I say something wrong, Your\nGrace? Why will he not speak to me?”\n\n“Ser Ilyn has not been feeling talkative these past fourteen years,” Lord Renly\ncommented with a sly smile.\n\nJoffrey gave his uncle a look of pure loathing, then took Sansa’s hands in his own. “Aerys\nTargaryen had his tongue ripped out with hot pincers.”\n\n“He speaks most eloquently with his sword, however,” the queen said, “and his devotion\nto our realm is unquestioned.” Then she smiled graciously and said, “Sansa, the good\ncouncillors and I must speak together until the king returns with your father. I fear we\nshall have to postpone your day with Myrcella. Please give your sweet sister my\napologies. Joffrey, perhaps you would be so kind as to entertain our guest today.”\n\n“It would be my pleasure, Mother,” Joffrey said very formally. He took her by the arm\nand led her away from the wheelhouse, and Sansa’s spirits took flight. A whole day with\nher prince! She gazed at Joffrey worshipfully. He was so gallant, she thought. The way he\nhad rescued her from Ser Ilyn and the Hound, why, it was almost like the songs, like the\ntime Serwyn of the Mirror Shield saved the Princess Daeryssa from the giants, or Prince\nAemon the Dragonknight championing Queen Naerys’s honor against evil Ser Morgil’s\nslanders.\n\nThe touch of Joffrey’s hand on her sleeve made her heart beat faster. “What would you\nlike to do?”\n\nBe with you, Sansa thought, but she said, “Whatever you’d like to do, my prince.”\n\nJofftey reflected a moment. “We could go riding.”\n"
## [141] "“Oh, I love riding,” Sansa said.\n\nJoffrey glanced back at Lady, who was following at their heels. “Your wolf is liable to\nfrighten the horses, and my dog seems to frighten you. Let us leave them both behind\nand set off on our own, what do you say?”\n\nSansa hesitated. “If you like,” she said uncertainly. “I suppose I could tie Lady up.” She\ndid not quite understand, though. “I didn’t know you had a dog . . . ”\n\nJoffrey laughed. “He’s my mother’s dog, in truth. She has set him to guard me, and so he\ndoes.”\n\n“You mean the Hound,” she said. She wanted to hit herself for being so slow. Her prince\nwould never love her if she seemed stupid. “Is it safe to leave him behind?”\n\nPrince Joffrey looked annoyed that she would even ask. “Have no fear, lady. I am almost\na man grown, and I don’t fight with wood like your brothers. All I need is this.” He drew\nhis sword and showed it to her; a longsword adroitly shrunken to suit a boy of twelve,\ngleaming blue steel, castle-forged and double-edged, with a leather grip and a lion’s-\nhead pommel in gold. Sansa exclaimed over it admiringly, and Joffrey looked pleased. “I\ncall it Lion’s Tooth,” he said.\n\nAnd so they left her direwolf and his bodyguard behind them, while they ranged east\nalong the north bank of the Trident with no company save Lion’s Tooth.\n\nIt was a glorious day, a magical day. The air was warm and heavy with the scent of\nflowers, and the woods here had a gentle beauty that Sansa had never seen in the north.\nPrince Joffrey’s mount was a blood bay courser, swift as the wind, and he rode it with\nreckless abandon, so fast that Sansa was hard-pressed to keep up on her mare. It was a\nday for adventures. They explored the caves by the riverbank, and tracked a shadowcat\nto its lair, and when they grew hungry, Joffrey found a holdfast by its smoke and told\nthem to fetch food and wine for their prince and his lady. They dined on trout fresh from\nthe river, and Sansa drank more wine than she had ever drunk before. “My father only\nlets us have one cup, and only at feasts,” she confessed to her prince.\n\n“My betrothed can drink as much as she wants,” Joffrey said, refilling her cup.\n\nThey went more slowly after they had eaten. Joffrey sang for her as they rode, his voice\nhigh and sweet and pure. Sansa was a little dizzy from the wine. “Shouldn’t we be\nstarting back?” she asked.\n\n“Soon,” Joffrey said. “The battleground is right up ahead, where the river bends. That\n"
## [142] "was where my father killed Rhaegar Targaryen, you know. He smashed in his chest,\ncrunch, right through the armor.” Joffrey swung an imaginary warhammer to show her\nhow it was done. “Then my uncle Jaime killed old Aerys, and my father was king. What’s\nthat sound?”\n\nSansa heard it too, floating through the woods, a kind of wooden clattering, snack snack\nsnack. “I don’t know,” she said. It made her nervous, though. “Joffrey, let’s go back.”\n\n“I want to see what it is.” Joffrey turned his horse in the direction of the sounds, and\nSansa had no choice but to follow. The noises grew louder and more distinct, the clack of\nwood on wood, and as they grew closer they heard heavy breathing as well, and now and\nthen a grunt.\n\n“Someone’s there,” Sansa said anxiously. She found herself thinking of Lady, wishing the\ndirewolf was with her.\n\n“You’re safe with me.” Joffrey drew his Lion’s Tooth from its sheath. The sound of steel\non leather made her tremble. “This way,” he said, riding through a stand of trees.\n\nBeyond, in a clearing overlooking the river, they came upon a boy and a girl playing at\nknights. Their swords were wooden sticks, broom handles from the look of them, and\nthey were rushing across the grass, swinging at each other lustily. The boy was years\nolder, a head taller, and much stronger, and he was pressing the attack. The girl, a\nscrawny thing in soiled leathers, was dodging and managing to get her stick in the way of\nmost of the boy’s blows, but not all. When she tried to lunge at him, he caught her stick\nwith his own, swept it aside, and slid his wood down hard on her fingers. She cried out\nand lost her weapon.\n\nPrince Joffrey laughed. The boy looked around, wide-eyed and startled, and dropped his\nstick in the grass. The girl glared at them, sucking on her knuckles to take the sting out,\nand Sansa was horrified. “Arya?” she called out incredulously.\n\n“Go away,” Arya shouted back at them, angry tears in her eyes. “What are you doing\nhere? Leave us alone.”\n\nJoffrey glanced from Arya to Sansa and back again. “Your sister?” She nodded, blushing.\nJoffrey examined the boy, an ungainly lad with a coarse, freckled face and thick red hair.\n“And who are you, boy?” he asked in a commanding tone that took no notice of the fact\nthat the other was a year his senior.\n\n“Mycah,” the boy muttered. He recognized the prince and averted his eyes. “M’lord.”\n"
## [143] "“He’s the butcher’s boy,” Sansa said.\n\n“He’s my friend,” Arya said sharply. “You leave him alone.”\n\n“A butcher’s boy who wants to be a knight, is it?” Joffrey swung down from his mount,\nsword in hand. “Pick up your sword, butcher’s boy,” he said, his eyes bright with\namusement. “Let us see how good you are.”\n\nMycah stood there, frozen with fear.\n\nJoffrey walked toward him. “Go on, pick it up. Or do you only fight little girls?”\n\n“She ast me to, m’lord,” Mycah said. “She ast me to.”\n\nSansa had only to glance at Arya and see the flush on her sister’s face to know the boy\nwas telling the truth, but Joffrey was in no mood to listen. The wine had made him wild.\n“Are you going to pick up your sword?”\n\nMycah shook his head. “It’s only a stick, m’lord. It’s not no sword, it’s only a stick.”\n\n“And you’re only a butcher’s boy, and no knight.” Joffrey lifted Lion’s Tooth and laid its\npoint on Mycah’s cheek below the eye, as the butcher’s boy stood trembling. “That was\nmy lady’s sister you were hitting, do you know that?” A bright bud of blood blossomed\nwhere his sword pressed into Mycah’s flesh, and a slow red line trickled down the boy’s\ncheek.\n\n“Stop it!” Arya screamed. She grabbed up her fallen stick.\n\nSansa was afraid. “Arya, you stay out of this.”\n\n“I won’t hurt him . . . much,” Prince Joffrey told Arya, never taking his eyes off the\nbutcher’s boy.\n\nArya went for him.\n\nSansa slid off her mare, but she was too slow. Arya swung with both hands. There was a\nloud crack as the wood split against the back of the prince’s head, and then everything\nhappened at once before Sansa’s horrified eyes. Joffrey staggered and whirled around,\nroaring curses. Mycah ran for the trees as fast as his legs would take him. Arya swung at\nthe prince again, but this time Joffrey caught the blow on Lion’s Tooth and sent her\nbroken stick flying from her hands. The back of his head was all bloody and his eyes\n"
## [144] "were on fire. Sansa was shrieking, “No, no, stop it, stop it, both of you, you’re spoiling it,”\nbut no one was listening. Arya scooped up a rock and hurled it at Joffrey’s head. She hit\nhis horse instead, and the blood bay reared and went galloping off after Mycah. “Stop it,\ndon’t, stop it!” Sansa screamed. Joffrey slashed at Arya with his sword, screaming\nobscenities, terrible words, filthy words. Arya darted back, frightened now, but Joffrey\nfollowed, hounding her toward the woods, backing her up against a tree. Sansa didn’t\nknow what to do. She watched helplessly, almost blind from her tears.\n\nThen a grey blur flashed past her, and suddenly Nymeria was there, leaping, jaws closing\naround Joffrey’s sword arm. The steel fell from his fingers as the wolf knocked him off\nhis feet, and they rolled in the grass, the wolf snarling and ripping at him, the prince\nshrieking in pain. “Get it off,” he screamed. “Get it off!”\n\nArya’s voice cracked like a whip. “Nymeria!”\n\nThe direwolf let go of Joffrey and moved to Arya’s side. The prince lay in the grass,\nwhimpering, cradling his mangled arm. His shirt was soaked in blood. Arya said, “She\ndidn’t hurt you . . . much.” She picked up Lion’s Tooth where it had fallen, and stood\nover him, holding the sword with both hands.\n\nJofftey made a scared whimpery sound as he looked up at her. “No,” he said, “don’t hurt\nme. I’ll tell my mother.”\n\n“You leave him alone!” Sansa screamed at her sister.\n\nArya whirled and heaved the sword into the air, putting her whole body into the throw.\nThe blue steel flashed in the sun as the sword spun out over the river. It hit the water\nand vanished with a splash. Joffrey moaned. Arya ran off to her horse, Nymeria loping at\nher heels.\n\nAfter they had gone, Sansa went to Prince Joffrey. His eyes were closed in pain, his\nbreath ragged. Sansa knelt beside him. “Joffrey,” she sobbed. “Oh, look what they did,\nlook what they did. My poor prince. Don’t be afraid. I’ll ride to the holdfast and bring\nhelp for you.” Tenderly she reached out and brushed back his soft blond hair.\n\nHis eyes snapped open and looked at her, and there was nothing but loathing there,\nnothing but the vilest contempt. “Then go,” he spit at her. “And don’t touch me.”\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [145] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n EDDARD\nThey’ve found her, my lord.”\n\nNed rose quickly. “Our men or Lannister’s?”\n\n“It was Jory,” his steward Vayon Poole replied. “She’s not been harmed.”\n\n“Thank the gods,” Ned said. His men had been searching for Arya for four days now, but\nthe queen’s men had been out hunting as well. “Where is she? Tell Jory to bring her here\nat once.”\n\n“I am sorry, my lord,” Poole told him. “The guards on the gate were Lannister men, and\nthey informed the queen when Jory brought her in. She’s being taken directly before the\nking . . . ”\n\n“Damn that woman!” Ned said, striding to the door. “Find Sansa and bring her to the\naudience chamber. Her voice may be needed.” He descended the tower steps in a red\nrage. He had led searches himself for the first three days, and had scarcely slept an hour\nsince Arya had disappeared. This morning he had been so heartsick and weary he could\nscarcely stand, but now his fury was on him, filling him with strength.\n\nMen called out to him as he crossed the castle yard, but Ned ignored them in his haste.\nHe would have run, but he was still the King’s Hand, and a Hand must keep his dignity.\nHe was aware of the eyes that followed him, of the muttered voices wondering what he\nwould do.\n\nThe castle was a modest holding a half day’s ride south of the Trident. The royal party\nhad made themselves the uninvited guests of its lord, Ser Raymun Darry, while the hunt\nfor Arya and the butcher’s boy was conducted on both sides of the river. They were not\nwelcome visitors. Ser Raymun lived under the king’s peace, but his family had fought\nbeneath Rhaegar’s dragon banners at the Trident, and his three older brothers had died\nthere, a truth neither Robert nor Ser Raymun had forgotten. With king’s men, Darry\nmen, Lannister men, and Stark men all crammed into a castle far too small for them,\ntensions burned hot and heavy.\n\nThe king had appropriated Ser Raymun’s audience chamber, and that was where Ned\n"
## [146] "found them. The room was crowded when he burst in. Too crowded, he thought; left\nalone, he and Robert might have been able to settle the matter amicably.\n\nRobert was slumped in Darry’s high seat at the far end of the room, his face closed and\nsullen. Cersei Lannister and her son stood beside him. The queen had her hand on\nJoffrey’s shoulder. Thick silken bandages still covered the boy’s arm.\n\nArya stood in the center of the room, alone but for Jory Cassel, every eye upon her.\n“Arya,” Ned called loudly. He went to her, his boots ringing on the stone floor. When she\nsaw him, she cried out and began to sob.\n\nNed went to one knee and took her in his arms. She was shaking. “I’m sorry,” she\nsobbed, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”\n\n“I know,” he said. She felt so tiny in his arms, nothing but a scrawny little girl. It was\nhard to see how she had caused so much trouble. “Are you hurt?”\n\n“No.” Her face was dirty, and her tears left pink tracks down her cheeks. “Hungry some.\nI ate some berries, but there was nothing else.”\n\n“We’ll feed you soon enough,” Ned promised. He rose to face the king. “What is the\nmeaning of this?” His eyes swept the room, searching for friendly faces. But for his own\nmen, they were few enough. Ser Raymun Darry guarded his look well. Lord Renly wore a\nhalf smile that might mean anything, and old Ser Barristan was grave; the rest were\nLannister men, and hostile. Their only good fortune was that both Jaime Lannister and\nSandor Clegane were missing, leading searches north of the Trident. “Why was I not told\nthat my daughter had been found?” Ned demanded, his voice ringing. “Why was she not\nbrought to me at once?”\n\nHe spoke to Robert, but it was Cersei Lannister who answered. “How dare you speak to\nyour king in that manner!”\n\nAt that, the king stirred. “Quiet, woman,” he snapped. He straightened in his seat. “I am\nsorry, Ned. I never meant to frighten the girl. It seemed best to bring her here and get\nthe business done with quickly.”\n\n“And what business is that?” Ned put ice in his voice.\n\nThe queen stepped forward. “You know full well, Stark. This girl of yours attacked my\nson. Her and her butcher’s boy. That animal of hers tried to tear his arm off.”\n\n“That’s not true,” Arya said loudly. “She just bit him a little. He was hurting Mycah.”\n"
## [147] "“Joff told us what happened,” the queen said. “You and the butcher boy beat him with\nclubs while you set your wolf on him.”\n\n“That’s not how it was,” Arya said, close to tears again. Ned put a hand on her shoulder.\n\n“Yes it is!” Prince Joffrey insisted. “They all attacked me, and she threw Lion’s Tooth in\nthe river!” Ned noticed that he did not so much as glance at Arya as he spoke.\n\n“Liar!” Arya yelled.\n\n“Shut up!” the prince yelled back.\n\n“Enough!” the king roared, rising from his seat, his voice thick with irritation. Silence\nfell. He glowered at Arya through his thick beard. “Now, child, you will tell me what\nhappened. Tell it all, and tell it true. It is a great crime to lie to a king.” Then he looked\nover at his son. “When she is done, you will have your turn. Until then, hold your\ntongue.”\n\nAs Arya began her story, Ned heard the door open behind him. He glanced back and saw\nVayon Poole enter with Sansa. They stood quietly at the back of the hall as Arya spoke.\nWhen she got to the part where she threw Joffrey’s sword into the middle of the Trident,\nRenly Baratheon began to laugh. The king bristled. “Ser Barristan, escort my brother\nfrom the hall before he chokes.”\n\nLord Renly stifled his laughter. “My brother is too kind. I can find the door myself.” He\nbowed to Joffrey. “Perchance later you’ll tell me how a nine-year-old girl the size of a wet\nrat managed to disarm you with a broom handle and throw your sword in the river.” As\nthe door swung shut behind him, Ned heard him say, “Lion’s Tooth,” and guffaw once\nmore.\n\nPrince Joffrey was pale as he began his very different version of events. When his son\nwas done talking, the king rose heavily from his seat, looking like a man who wanted to\nbe anywhere but here. “What in all the seven hells am I supposed to make of this? He\nsays one thing, she says another.”\n\n“They were not the only ones present,” Ned said. “Sansa, come here.” Ned had heard her\nversion of the story the night Arya had vanished. He knew the truth. “Tell us what\nhappened.”\n\nHis eldest daughter stepped forward hesitantly. She was dressed in blue velvets trimmed\nwith white, a silver chain around her neck. Her thick auburn hair had been brushed until\n"
## [148] "it shone. She blinked at her sister, then at the young prince. “I don’t know,” she said\ntearfully, looking as though she wanted to bolt. “I don’t remember. Everything happened\nso fast, I didn’t see . . . ”\n\n“You rotten!” Arya shrieked. She flew at her sister like an arrow, knocking Sansa down to\nthe ground, pummeling her. “Liar, liar, liar, liar.”\n\n“Arya, stop it!” Ned shouted. Jory pulled her off her sister, kicking. Sansa was pale and\nshaking as Ned lifted her back to her feet. “Are you hurt?” he asked, but she was staring\nat Arya, and she did not seem to hear.\n\n“The girl is as wild as that filthy animal of hers,” Cersei Lannister said. “Robert, I want\nher punished.”\n\n“Seven hells,” Robert swore. “Cersei, look at her. She’s a child. What would you have me\ndo, whip her through the streets? Damn it, children fight. It’s over. No lasting harm was\ndone.”\n\nThe queen was furious. “Joff will carry those scars for the rest of his life.”\n\nRobert Baratheon looked at his eldest son. “So he will. Perhaps they will teach him a\nlesson. Ned, see that your daughter is disciplined. I will do the same with my son.”\n\n“Gladly, Your Grace,” Ned said with vast relief.\n\nRobert started to walk away, but the queen was not done. “And what of the direwolf?”\nshe called after him. “What of the beast that savaged your son?”\n\nThe king stopped, turned back, frowned. “I’d forgotten about the damned wolf.”\n\nNed could see Arya tense in Jory’s arms. Jory spoke up quickly. “We found no trace of\nthe direwolf, Your Grace.”\n\nRobert did not look unhappy. “No? So be it.”\n\nThe queen raised her voice. “A hundred golden dragons to the man who brings me its\nskin!”\n\n“A costly pelt,” Robert grumbled. “I want no part of this, woman. You can damn well buy\nyour furs with Lannister gold.”\n"
## [149] "The queen regarded him coolly. “I had not thought you so niggardly. The king I’d\nthought to wed would have laid a wolfskin across my bed before the sun went down.”\n\nRobert’s face darkened with anger. “That would be a fine trick, without a wolf.”\n\n“We have a wolf,” Cersei Lannister said. Her voice was very quiet, but her green eyes\nshone with triumph.\n\nIt took them all a moment to comprehend her words, but when they did, the king\nshrugged irritably. “As you will. Have Ser Ilyn see to it.”\n\n“Robert, you cannot mean this,” Ned protested.\n\nThe king was in no mood for more argument. “Enough, Ned, I will hear no more. A\ndirewolf is a savage beast. Sooner or later it would have turned on your girl the same way\nthe other did on my son. Get her a dog, she’ll be happier for it.”\n\nThat was when Sansa finally seemed to comprehend. Her eyes were frightened as they\nwent to her father. “He doesn’t mean Lady, does he?” She saw the truth on his face.\n“No,” she said. “No, not Lady, Lady didn’t bite anybody, she’s good . . . ”\n\n“Lady wasn’t there,” Arya shouted angrily. “You leave her alone!”\n\n“Stop them,” Sansa pleaded, “don’t let them do it, please, please, it wasn’t Lady, it was\nNymeria, Arya did it, you can’t, it wasn’t Lady, don’t let them hurt Lady, I’ll make her be\ngood, I promise, I promise . . . ” She started to cry.\n\nAll Ned could do was take her in his arms and hold her while she wept. He looked across\nthe room at Robert. His old friend, closer than any brother. “Please, Robert. For the love\nyou bear me. For the love you bore my sister. Please.”\n\nThe king looked at them for a long moment, then turned his eyes on his wife. “Damn\nyou, Cersei,” he said with loathing.\n\nNed stood, gently disengaging himself from Sansa’s grasp. All the weariness of the past\nfour days had returned to him. “Do it yourself then, Robert,” he said in a voice cold and\nsharp as steel. “At least have the courage to do it yourself.”\n\nRobert looked at Ned with flat, dead eyes and left without a word, his footsteps heavy as\nlead. Silence filled the hall.\n"
## [150] "“Where is the direwolf?” Cersei Lannister asked when her husband was gone. Beside her,\nPrince Joffrey was smiling.\n\n“The beast is chained up outside the gatehouse, Your Grace,” Ser Barristan Selmy\nanswered reluctantly.\n\n“Send for Ilyn Payne.”\n\n“No,” Ned said. “Jory, take the girls back to their rooms and bring me Ice.” The words\ntasted of bile in his throat, but he forced them out. “If it must be done, I will do it.”\n\nCersei Lannister regarded him suspiciously. “You, Stark? Is this some trick? Why would\nyou do such a thing?”\n\nThey were all staring at him, but it was Sansa’s look that cut. “She is of the north. She\ndeserves better than a butcher.”\n\nHe left the room with his eyes burning and his daughter’s wails echoing in his ears, and\nfound the direwolf pup where they chained her. Ned sat beside her for a while. “Lady,”\nhe said, tasting the name. He had never paid much attention to the names the children\nhad picked, but looking at her now, he knew that Sansa had chosen well. She was the\nsmallest of the litter, the prettiest, the most gentle and trusting. She looked at him with\nbright golden eyes, and he ruffled her thick grey fur.\n\nShortly, Jory brought him Ice.\n\nWhen it was over, he said, “Choose four men and have them take the body north. Bury\nher at Winterfell.”\n\n“All that way?” Jory said, astonished.\n\n“All that way,” Ned affirmed. “The Lannister woman shall never have this skin.”\n\nHe was walking back to the tower to give himself up to sleep at last when Sandor\nClegane and his riders came pounding through the castle gate, back from their hunt.\n\nThere was something slung over the back of his destrier, a heavy shape wrapped in a\nbloody cloak. “No sign of your daughter, Hand,” the Hound rasped down, “but the day\nwas not wholly wasted. We got her little pet.” He reached back and shoved the burden\noff, and it fell with a thump in front of Ned.\n"
## [151] "Bending, Ned pulled back the cloak, dreading the words he would have to find for Arya,\nbut it was not Nymeria after all. It was the butcher’s boy, Mycah, his body covered in\ndried blood. He had been cut almost in half from shoulder to waist by some terrible blow\nstruck from above.\n\n“You rode him down,” Ned said.\n\nThe Hound’s eyes seemed to glitter through the steel of that hideous dog’s-head helm.\n“He ran.” He looked at Ned’s face and laughed. “But not very fast.”\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [152] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n BRAN\nIt seemed as though he had been falling for years.\n\nFly, a voice whispered in the darkness, but Bran did not know how to fly, so all he could\ndo was fall.\n\nMaester Luwin made a little boy of clay, baked him till he was hard and brittle, dressed\nhim in Bran’s clothes, and flung him off a roof. Bran remembered the way he shattered.\n“But I never fall,” he said, falling.\n\nThe ground was so far below him he could barely make it out through the grey mists that\nwhirled around him, but he could feel how fast he was falling, and he knew what was\nwaiting for him down there. Even in dreams, you could not fall forever. He would wake\nup in the instant before he hit the ground, he knew. You always woke up in the instant\nbefore you hit the ground.\n\nAnd if you don’t? the voice asked.\n\nThe ground was closer now, still far far away, a thousand miles away, but closer than it\nhad been. It was cold here in the darkness. There was no sun, no stars, only the ground\nbelow coming up to smash him, and the grey mists, and the whispering voice. He wanted\nto cry.\n\nNot cry. Fly.\n\n“I can’t fly,” Bran said. “I can’t, I can’t . . . ”\n\nHow do you know? Have you ever tried?\n\nThe voice was high and thin. Bran looked around to see where it was coming from. A\ncrow was spiraling down with him, just out of reach, following him as he fell. “Help me,”\nhe said.\n\nI’m trying, the crow replied. Say, got any corn?\n"
## [153] "Bran reached into his pocket as the darkness spun dizzily around him. When he pulled\nhis hand out, golden kernels slid from between his fingers into the air. They fell with him.\n\nThe crow landed on his hand and began to eat.\n\n“Are you really a crow?” Bran asked.\n\nAre you really falling? the crow asked back.\n\n“It’s just a dream,” Bran said.\n\nIs it? asked the crow.\n\n“I’ll wake up when I hit the ground,” Bran told the bird.\n\nYou’ll die when you hit the ground, the crow said. It went back to eating corn.\n\nBran looked down. He could see mountains now, their peaks white with snow, and the\nsilver thread of rivers in dark woods. He closed his eyes and began to cry.\n\nThat won’t do any good, the crow said. I told you, the answer is flying, not crying. How\nhard can it be? I’m doing it. The crow took to the air and flapped around Bran’s hand.\n\n“You have wings,” Bran pointed out.\n\nMaybe you do too.\n\nBran felt along his shoulders, groping for feathers.\n\nThere are different kinds of wings, the crow said.\n\nBran was staring at his arms, his legs. He was so skinny, just skin stretched taut over\nbones. Had he always been so thin? He tried to remember. A face swam up at him out of\nthe grey mist, shining with light, golden. “The things I do for love,” it said.\n\nBran screamed.\n\nThe crow took to the air, cawing. Not that, it shrieked at him. Forget that, you do not\nneed it now, put it aside, put it away. It landed on Bran’s shoulder, and pecked at him,\nand the shining golden face was gone.\n"
## [154] "Bran was falling faster than ever. The grey mists howled around him as he plunged\ntoward the earth below. “What are you doing to me?” he asked the crow, tearful.\n\nTeaching you how to fly.\n\n“I can’t fly!”\n\nYou’re flying tight now.\n\n“I’m falling!”\n\nEvery flight begins with a fall, the crow said. Look down.\n\n“I’m afraid . . . ”\n\nLOOK DOWN!\n\nBran looked down, and felt his insides turn to water. The ground was rushing up at him\nnow. The whole world was spread out below him, a tapestry of white and brown and\ngreen. He could see everything so clearly that for a moment he forgot to be afraid. He\ncould see the whole realm, and everyone in it.\n\nHe saw Winterfell as the eagles see it, the tall towers looking squat and stubby from\nabove, the castle walls just lines in the dirt. He saw Maester Luwin on his balcony,\nstudying the sky through a polished bronze tube and frowning as he made notes in a\nbook. He saw his brother Robb, taller and stronger than he remembered him, practicing\nswordplay in the yard with real steel in his hand. He saw Hodor, the simple giant from\nthe stables, carrying an anvil to Mikken’s forge, hefting it onto his shoulder as easily as\nanother man might heft a bale of hay. At the heart of the godswood, the great white\nweirwood brooded over its reflection in the black pool, its leaves rustling in a chill wind.\nWhen it felt Bran watching, it lifted its eyes from the still waters and stared back at him\nknowingly.\n\nHe looked east, and saw a galley racing across the waters of the Bite. He saw his mother\nsitting alone in a cabin, looking at a bloodstained knife on a table in front of her, as the\nrowers pulled at their oars and Ser Rodrik leaned across a rail, shaking and heaving. A\nstorm was gathering ahead of them, a vast dark roaring lashed by lightning, but\nsomehow they could not see it.\n\nHe looked south, and saw the great blue-green rush of the Trident. He saw his father\npleading with the king, his face etched with grief. He saw Sansa crying herself to sleep at\nnight, and he saw Arya watching in silence and holding her secrets hard in her heart.\n"
## [155] "There were shadows all around them. One shadow was dark as ash, with the terrible face\nof a hound. Another was armored like the sun, golden and beautiful. Over them both\nloomed a giant in armor made of stone, but when he opened his visor, there was nothing\ninside but darkness and thick black blood.\n\nHe lifted his eyes and saw clear across the narrow sea, to the Free Cities and the green\nDothraki sea and beyond, to Vaes Dothrak under its mountain, to the fabled lands of the\nJade Sea, to Asshai by the Shadow, where dragons stirred beneath the sunrise.\n\nFinally he looked north. He saw the Wall shining like blue crystal, and his bastard\nbrother Jon sleeping alone in a cold bed, his skin growing pale and hard as the memory\nof all warmth fled from him. And he looked past the Wall, past endless forests cloaked in\nsnow, past the frozen shore and the great blue-white rivers of ice and the dead plains\nwhere nothing grew or lived. North and north and north he looked, to the curtain of light\nat the end of the world, and then beyond that curtain. He looked deep into the heart of\nwinter, and then he cried out, afraid, and the heat of his tears burned on his cheeks.\n\nNow you know, the crow whispered as it sat on his shoulder. Now you know why you\nmust live.\n\n“Why?” Bran said, not understanding, falling, falling.\n\nBecause winter is coming.\n\nBran looked at the crow on his shoulder, and the crow looked back. It had three eyes,\nand the third eye was full of a terrible knowledge. Bran looked down. There was nothing\nbelow him now but snow and cold and death, a frozen wasteland where jagged blue-\nwhite spires of ice waited to embrace him. They flew up at him like spears. He saw the\nbones of a thousand other dreamers impaled upon their points. He was desperately\nafraid.\n\n“Can a man still be brave if he’s afraid?” he heard his own voice saying, small and far\naway.\n\nAnd his father’s voice replied to him. “That is the only time a man can be brave.”\n\nNow, Bran, the crow urged. Choose. Fly or die.\n\nDeath reached for him, screaming.\n\nBran spread his arms and flew.\n"
## [156] "Wings unseen drank the wind and filled and pulled him upward. The terrible needles of\nice receded below him. The sky opened up above. Bran soared. It was better than\nclimbing. It was better than anything. The world grew small beneath him.\n\n“I’m flying!” he cried out in delight.\n\nI’ve noticed, said the three-eyed crow. It took to the air, flapping its wings in his face,\nslowing him, blinding him. He faltered in the air as its pinions beat against his cheeks.\nIts beak stabbed at him fiercely, and Bran felt a sudden blinding pain in the middle of\nhis forehead, between his eyes.\n\n“What are you doing?” he shrieked.\n\nThe crow opened its beak and cawed at him, a shrill scream of fear, and the grey mists\nshuddered and swirled around him and ripped away like a veil, and he saw that the crow\nwas really a woman, a serving woman with long black hair, and he knew her from\nsomewhere, from Winterfell, yes, that was it, he remembered her now, and then he\nrealized that he was in Winterfell, in a bed high in some chilly tower room, and the black-\nhaired woman dropped a basin of water to shatter on the floor and ran down the steps,\nshouting, “He’s awake, he’s awake, he’s awake.”\n\nBran touched his forehead, between his eyes. The place where the crow had pecked him\nwas still burning, but there was nothing there, no blood, no wound. He felt weak and\ndizzy. He tried to get out of bed, but nothing happened.\n\nAnd then there was movement beside the bed, and something landed lightly on his legs.\nHe felt nothing. A pair of yellow eyes looked into his own, shining like the sun. The\nwindow was open and it was cold in the room, but the warmth that came off the wolf\nenfolded him like a hot bath. His pup, Bran realized . . . or was it? He was so big now. He\nreached out to pet him, his hand trembling like a leaf.\n\nWhen his brother Robb burst into the room, breathless from his dash up the tower steps,\nthe direwolf was licking Bran’s face. Bran looked up calmly. “His name is Summer,” he\nsaid.\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [157] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n CATELYN\nWe will make King’s Landing within the hour.”\n\nCatelyn turned away from the rail and forced herself to smile. “Your oarmen have done\nwell by us, Captain. Each one of them shall have a silver stag, as a token of my gratitude.”\n\nCaptain Moreo Turnitis favored her with a half bow. “You are far too generous, Lady\nStark. The honor of carrying a great lady like yourself is all the reward they need.”\n\n“But they’ll take the silver anyway.”\n\nMoreo smiled. “As you say.” He spoke the Common Tongue fluently, with only the\nslightest hint of a Tyroshi accent. He’d been plying the narrow sea for thirty years, he’d\ntold her, as oarman, quartermaster, and finally captain of his own trading galleys. The\nStorm Dancer was his fourth ship, and his fastest, a two-masted galley of sixty oars.\n\nShe had certainly been the fastest of the ships available in White Harbor when Catelyn\nand Ser Rodrik Cassel had arrived after their headlong gallop downriver. The Tyroshi\nwere notorious for their avarice, and Ser Rodrik had argued for hiring a fishing sloop out\nof the Three Sisters, but Catelyn had insisted on the galley. It was good that she had. The\nwinds had been against them much of the voyage, and without the galley’s oars they’d\nstill be beating their way past the Fingers, instead of skimming toward King’s Landing\nand journey’s end.\n\nSo close, she thought. Beneath the linen bandages, her fingers still throbbed where the\ndagger had bitten. The pain was her scourge, Catelyn felt, lest she forget. She could not\nbend the last two fingers on her left hand, and the others would never again be\ndexterous. Yet that was a small enough price to pay for Bran’s life.\n\nSer Rodrik chose that moment to appear on deck. “My good friend,” said Moreo through\nhis forked green beard. The Tyroshi loved bright colors, even in their facial hair. “It is so\nfine to see you looking better.”\n\n“Yes,” Ser Rodrik agreed. “I haven’t wanted to die for almost two days now.” He bowed\nto Catelyn. “My lady.”\n"
## [158] "He was looking better. A shade thinner than he had been when they set out from White\nHarbor, but almost himself again. The strong winds in the Bite and the roughness of the\nnarrow sea had not agreed with him, and he’d almost gone over the side when the storm\nseized them unexpectedly off Dragonstone, yet somehow he had clung to a rope until\nthree of Moreo’s men could rescue him and carry him safely below decks.\n\n“The captain was just telling me that our voyage is almost at an end,” she said.\n\nSer Rodrik managed a wry smile. “So soon?” He looked odd without his great white side\nwhiskers; smaller somehow, less fierce, and ten years older. Yet back on the Bite it had\nseemed prudent to submit to a crewman’s razor, after his whiskers had become\nhopelessly befouled for the third time while he leaned over the rail and retched into the\nswirling winds.\n\n“I will leave you to discuss your business,” Captain Moreo said. He bowed and took his\nleave of them.\n\nThe galley skimmed the water like a dragonfly, her oars rising and falling in perfect time.\nSer Rodrik held the rail and looked out over the passing shore. “I have not been the most\nvaliant of protectors.”\n\nCatelyn touched his arm. “We are here, Ser Rodrik, and safely. That is all that truly\nmatters.” Her hand groped beneath her cloak, her fingers stiff and fumbling. The dagger\nwas still at her side. She found she had to touch it now and then, to reassure herself.\n“Now we must reach the king’s master-at-arms, and pray that he can be trusted.”\n\n“Ser Aron Santagar is a vain man, but an honest one.” Ser Rodrik’s hand went to his face\nto stroke his whiskers and discovered once again that they were gone. He looked\nnonplussed. “He may know the blade, yes . . . but, my lady, the moment we go ashore we\nare at risk. And there are those at court who will know you on sight.”\n\nCatelyn’s mouth grew tight. “Littlefinger,” she murmured. His face swam up before her;\na boy’s face, though he was a boy no longer. His father had died several years before, so\nhe was Lord Baelish now, yet still they called him Littlefinger. Her brother Edmure had\ngiven him that name, long ago at Riverrun. His family’s modest holdings were on the\nsmallest of the Fingers, and Petyr had been slight and short for his age.\n\nSer Rodrik cleared his throat. “Lord Baelish once, ah . . . ” His thought trailed off\nuncertainly in search of the polite word.\n\nCatelyn was past delicacy. “He was my father’s ward. We grew up together in Riverrun. I\nthought of him as a brother, but his feelings for me were . . . more than brotherly. When\n"
## [159] "it was announced that I was to wed Brandon Stark, Petyr challenged for the right to my\nhand. It was madness. Brandon was twenty, Petyr scarcely fifteen. I had to beg Brandon\nto spare Petyr’s life. He let him off with a scar. Afterward my father sent him away. I\nhave not seen him since.” She lifted her face to the spray, as if the brisk wind could blow\nthe memories away. “He wrote to me at Riverrun after Brandon was killed, but I burned\nthe letter unread. By then I knew that Ned would marry me in his brother’s place.”\n\nSer Rodrik’s fingers fumbled once again for nonexistent whiskers. “Littlefinger sits on\nthe small council now.”\n\n“I knew he would rise high,” Catelyn said. “He was always clever, even as a boy, but it is\none thing to be clever and another to be wise. I wonder what the years have done to him.”\n\nHigh overhead, the far-eyes sang out from the rigging. Captain Moreo came scrambling\nacross the deck, giving orders, and all around them the Storm Dancer burst into frenetic\nactivity as King’s Landing slid into view atop its three high hills.\n\nThree hundred years ago, Catelyn knew, those heights had been covered with forest, and\nonly a handful of fisherfolk had lived on the north shore of the Blackwater Rush where\nthat deep, swift river flowed into the sea. Then Aegon the Conqueror had sailed from\nDragonstone. It was here that his army had put ashore, and there on the highest hill that\nhe built his first crude redoubt of wood and earth.\n\nNow the city covered the shore as far as Catelyn could see; manses and arbors and\ngranaries, brick storehouses and timbered inns and merchant’s stalls, taverns and\ngraveyards and brothels, all piled one on another. She could hear the clamor of the fish\nmarket even at this distance. Between the buildings were broad roads lined with trees,\nwandering crookback streets, and alleys so narrow that two men could not walk abreast.\nVisenya’s hill was crowned by the Great Sept of Baelor with its seven crystal towers.\nAcross the city on the hill of Rhaenys stood the blackened walls of the Dragonpit, its\nhuge dome collapsing into ruin, its bronze doors closed now for a century. The Street of\nthe Sisters ran between them, straight as an arrow. The city walls rose in the distance,\nhigh and strong.\n\nA hundred quays lined the waterfront, and the harbor was crowded with ships.\nDeepwater fishing boats and river runners came and went, ferrymen poled back and\nforth across the Blackwater Rush, trading galleys unloaded goods from Braavos and\nPentos and Lys. Catelyn spied the queen’s ornate barge, tied up beside a fat-bellied\nwhaler from the Port of Ibben, its hull black with tar, while upriver a dozen lean golden\nwarships rested in their cribs, sails furled and cruel iron rams lapping at the water.\n\nAnd above it all, frowning down from Aegon’s high hill, was the Red Keep; seven huge\n"
## [160] "drum-towers crowned with iron ramparts, an immense grim barbican, vaulted halls and\ncovered bridges, barracks and dungeons and granaries, massive curtain walls studded\nwith archers’ nests, all fashioned of pale red stone. Aegon the Conqueror had\ncommanded it built. His son Maegor the Cruel had seen it completed. Afterward he had\ntaken the heads of every stonemason, woodworker, and builder who had labored on it.\nOnly the blood of the dragon would ever know the secrets of the fortress the Dragonlords\nhad built, he vowed.\n\nYet now the banners that flew from its battlements were golden, not black, and where\nthe three-headed dragon had once breathed fire, now pranced the crowned stag of\nHouse Baratheon.\n\nA high-masted swan ship from the Summer Isles was beating out from port, its white\nsails huge with wind. The Storm Dancer moved past it, pulling steadily for shore.\n\n“My lady,” Ser Rodrik said, “I have thought on how best to proceed while I lay abed. You\nmust not enter the castle. I will go in your stead and bring Ser Aron to you in some safe\nplace.”\n\nShe studied the old knight as the galley drew near to a pier. Moreo was shouting in the\nvulgar Valyrian of the Free Cities. “You would be as much at risk as I would.”\n\nSer Rodrik smiled. “I think not. I looked at my reflection in the water earlier and scarcely\nrecognized myself. My mother was the last person to see me without whiskers, and she is\nforty years dead. I believe I am safe enough, my lady.”\n\nMoreo bellowed a command. As one, sixty oars lifted from the river, then reversed and\nbacked water. The galley slowed. Another shout. The oars slid back inside the hull. As\nthey thumped against the dock, Tyroshi seamen leapt down to tie up. Moreo came\nbustling up, all smiles. “King’s Landing, my lady, as you did command, and never has a\nship made a swifter or surer passage. Will you be needing assistance to carry your things\nto the castle?”\n\n“We shall not be going to the castle. Perhaps you can suggest an inn, someplace clean\nand comfortable and not too far from the river.”\n\nThe Tyroshi fingered his forked green beard. “Just so. I know of several establishments\nthat might suit your needs. Yet first, if I may be so bold, there is the matter of the second\nhalf of the payment we agreed upon. And of course the extra silver you were so kind as to\npromise. Sixty stags, I believe it was.”\n\n“For the oarmen,” Catelyn reminded him.\n"
## [161] "“Oh, of a certainty,” said Moreo. “Though perhaps I should hold it for them until we\nreturn to Tyrosh. For the sake of their wives and children. If you give them the silver\nhere, my lady, they will dice it away or spend it all for a night’s pleasure.”\n\n“There are worse things to spend money on,” Ser Rodrik put in. “Winter is coming.”\n\n“A man must make his own choices,” Catelyn said. “They earned the silver. How they\nspend it is no concern of mine.”\n\n“As you say, my lady,” Moreo replied, bowing and smiling.\n\nJust to be sure, Catelyn paid the oarmen herself, a stag to each man, and a copper to the\ntwo men who carried their chests halfway up Visenya’s hill to the inn that Moreo had\nsuggested. It was a rambling old place on Eel Alley. The woman who owned it was a sour\ncrone with a wandering eye who looked them over suspiciously and bit the coin that\nCatelyn offered her to make sure it was real. Her rooms were large and airy, though, and\nMoreo swore that her fish stew was the most savory in all the Seven Kingdoms. Best of\nall, she had no interest in their names.\n\n“I think it best if you stay away from the common room,” Ser Rodrik said, after they had\nsettled in. “Even in a place like this, one never knows who may be watching.” He wore\nringmail, dagger, and longsword under a dark cloak with a hood he could pull up over\nhis head. “I will be back before nightfall, with Ser Aron,” he promised. “Rest now, my\nlady.”\n\nCatelyn was tired. The voyage had been long and fatiguing, and she was no longer as\nyoung as she had been. Her windows opened on the alley and rooftops, with a view of\nthe Blackwater beyond. She watched Ser Rodrik set off, striding briskly through the busy\nstreets until he was lost in the crowds, then decided to take his advice. The bedding was\nstuffed with straw instead of feathers, but she had no trouble falling asleep.\n\nShe woke to a pounding on her door.\n\nCatelyn sat up sharply. Outside the window, the rooftops of King’s Landing were red in\nthe light of the setting sun. She had slept longer than she intended. A fist hammered at\nher door again, and a voice called out, “Open, in the name of the king.”\n\n“A moment,” she called out. She wrapped herself in her cloak. The dagger was on the\nbedside table. She snatched it up before she unlatched the heavy wooden door.\n\nThe men who pushed into the room wore the black ringmail and golden cloaks of the\n"
## [162] "City Watch. Their leader smiled at the dagger in her hand and said, “No need for that,\nm’lady. We’re to escort you to the castle.”\n\n“By whose authority?” she said.\n\nHe showed her a ribbon. Catelyn felt her breath catch in her throat. The seal was a\nmockingbird, in grey wax. “Petyr,” she said. So soon. Something must have happened to\nSer Rodrik. She looked at the head guardsman. “Do you know who I am?”\n\n“No, m’lady,” he said. “M’lord Littlefinger said only to bring you to him, and see that you\nwere not mistreated.”\n\nCatelyn nodded. “You may wait outside while I dress.”\n\nShe bathed her hands in the basin and wrapped them in clean linen. Her fingers were\nthick and awkward as she struggled to lace up her bodice and knot a drab brown cloak\nabout her neck. How could Littlefinger have known she was here? Ser Rodrik would\nnever have told him. Old he might be, but he was stubborn, and loyal to a fault. Were\nthey too late, had the Lannisters reached King’s Landing before her? No, if that were\ntrue, Ned would be here too, and surely he would have come to her. How . . . ?\n\nThen she thought, Moreo. The Tyroshi knew who they were and where they were, damn\nhim. She hoped he’d gotten a good price for the information.\n\nThey had brought a horse for her. The lamps were being lit along the streets as they set\nout, and Catelyn felt the eyes of the city on her as she rode, surrounded by the guard in\ntheir golden cloaks. When they reached the Red Keep, the portcullis was down and the\ngreat gates sealed for the night, but the castle windows were alive with flickering lights.\nThe guardsmen left their mounts outside the walls and escorted her through a narrow\npostern door, then up endless steps to a tower.\n\nHe was alone in the room, seated at a heavy wooden table, an oil lamp beside him as he\nwrote. When they ushered her inside, he set down his pen and looked at her. “Cat,” he\nsaid quietly.\n\n“Why have I been brought here in this fashion?”\n\nHe rose and gestured brusquely to the guards. “Leave us.” The men departed. “You were\nnot mistreated, I trust,” he said after they had gone. “I gave firm instructions.” He\nnoticed her bandages. “Your hands . . . ”\n\nCatelyn ignored the implied question. “I am not accustomed to being summoned like a\n"
## [163] "serving wench,” she said icily. “As a boy, you still knew the meaning of courtesy.”\n\n“I’ve angered you, my lady. That was never my intent.” He looked contrite. The look\nbrought back vivid memories for Catelyn. He had been a sly child, but after his mischiefs\nhe always looked contrite; it was a gift he had. The years had not changed him much.\nPetyr had been a small boy, and he had grown into a small man, an inch or two shorter\nthan Catelyn, slender and quick, with the sharp features she remembered and the same\nlaughing grey-green eyes. He had a little pointed chin beard now, and threads of silver in\nhis dark hair, though he was still shy of thirty. They went well with the silver\nmockingbird that fastened his cloak. Even as a child, he had always loved his silver.\n\n“How did you know I was in the city?” she asked him.\n\n“Lord Varys knows all,” Petyr said with a sly smile. “He will be joining us shortly, but I\nwanted to see you alone first. It has been too long, Cat. How many years?”\n\nCatelyn ignored his familiarity. There were more important questions. “So it was the\nKing’s Spider who found me.”\n\nLittlefinger winced. “You don’t want to call him that. He’s very sensitive. Comes of being\nan eunuch, I imagine. Nothing happens in this city without Varys knowing. Oftimes he\nknows about it before it happens. He has informants everywhere. His little birds, he calls\nthem. One of his little birds heard about your visit. Thankfully, Varys came to me first.”\n\n“Why you?”\n\nHe shrugged. “Why not me? I am master of coin, the king’s own councillor. Selmy and\nLord Renly rode north to meet Robert, and Lord Stannis is gone to Dragonstone, leaving\nonly Maester Pycelle and me. I was the obvious choice. I was ever a friend to your sister\nLysa, Varys knows that.”\n\n“Does Varys know about . . . ”\n\n“Lord Varys knows everything . . . except why you are here.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Why\nare you here?”\n\n“A wife is allowed to yearn for her husband, and if a mother needs her daughters close,\nwho can tell her no?”\n\nLittlefinger laughed. “Oh, very good, my lady, but please don’t expect me to believe that.\nI know you too well. What were the Tully words again?”\n"
## [164] "Her throat was dry. “Family, Duty, Honor,” she recited stiffly. He did know her too well.\n\n“Family, Duty, Honor,” he echoed. “All of which required you to remain in Winterfell,\nwhere our Hand left you. No, my lady, something has happened. This sudden trip of\nyours bespeaks a certain urgency. I beg of you, let me help. Old sweet friends should\nnever hesitate to rely upon each other.” There was a soft knock on the door. “Enter,”\nLittlefinger called out.\n\nThe man who stepped through the door was plump, perfumed, powdered, and as\nhairless as an egg. He wore a vest of woven gold thread over a loose gown of purple silk,\nand on his feet were pointed slippers of soft velvet. “Lady Stark,” he said, taking her\nhand in both of his, “to see you again after so many years is such a joy.” His flesh was\nsoft and moist, and his breath smelled of lilacs. “Oh, your poor hands. Have you burned\nyourself, sweet lady? The fingers are so delicate . . . Our good Maester Pycelle makes a\nmarvelous salve, shall I send for a jar?”\n\nCatelyn slid her fingers from his grasp. “I thank you, my lord, but my own Maester\nLuwin has already seen to my hurts.”\n\nVarys bobbed his head. “I was grievous sad to hear about your son. And him so young.\nThe gods are cruel.”\n\n“On that we agree, Lord Varys,” she said. The title was but a courtesy due him as a\ncouncil member; Varys was lord of nothing but the spiderweb, the master of none but\nhis whisperers.\n\nThe eunuch spread his soft hands. “On more than that, I hope, sweet lady. I have great\nesteem for your husband, our new Hand, and I know we do both love King Robert.”\n\n“Yes,” she was forced to say. “For a certainty.”\n\n“Never has a king been so beloved as our Robert,” quipped Littlefinger. He smiled slyly.\n“At least in Lord Varys’s hearing.”\n\n“Good lady,” Varys said with great solicitude. “There are men in the Free Cities with\nwondrous healing powers. Say only the word, and I will send for one for your dear Bran.”\n\n“Maester Luwin is doing all that can be done for Bran,” she told him. She would not\nspeak of Bran, not here, not with these men. She trusted Littlefinger only a little, and\nVarys not at all. She would not let them see her grief. “Lord Baelish tells me that I have\nyou to thank for bringing me here.”\n"
## [165] "Varys giggled like a little girl. “Oh, yes. I suppose I am guilty. I hope you forgive me, kind\nlady.” He eased himself down into a seat and put his hands together. “I wonder if we\nmight trouble you to show us the dagger?”\n\nCatelyn Stark stared at the eunuch in stunned disbelief. He was a spider, she thought\nwildly, an enchanter or worse. He knew things no one could possibly know,\nunless . . . “What have you done to Ser Rodrik?” she demanded.\n\nLittlefinger was lost. “I feel rather like the knight who arrives at the battle without his\nlance. What dagger are we talking about? Who is Ser Rodrik?”\n\n“Ser Rodrik Cassel is master-at-arms at Winterfell,” Varys informed him. “I assure you,\nLady Stark, nothing at all has been done to the good knight. He did call here early this\nafternoon. He visited with Ser Aron Santagar in the armory, and they talked of a certain\ndagger. About sunset, they left the castle together and walked to that dreadful hovel\nwhere you were staying. They are still there, drinking in the common room, waiting for\nyour return. Ser Rodrik was very distressed to find you gone.”\n\n“How could you know all that?”\n\n“The whisperings of little birds,” Varys said, smiling. “I know things, sweet lady. That is\nthe nature of my service.” He shrugged. “You do have the dagger with you, yes?”\n\nCatelyn pulled it out from beneath her cloak and threw it down on the table in front of\nhim. “Here. Perhaps your little birds will whisper the name of the man it belongs to.”\n\nVarys lifted the knife with exaggerated delicacy and ran a thumb along its edge. Blood\nwelled, and he let out a squeal and dropped the dagger back on the table.\n\n“Careful,” Catelyn told him, “it’s sharp.”\n\n“Nothing holds an edge like Valyrian steel,” Littlefinger said as Varys sucked at his\nbleeding thumb and looked at Catelyn with sullen admonition. Littlefinger hefted the\nknife lightly in his hand, testing the grip. He flipped it in the air, caught it again with his\nother hand. “Such sweet balance. You want to find the owner, is that the reason for this\nvisit? You have no need of Ser Aron for that, my lady. You should have come to me.”\n\n“And if I had,” she said, “what would you have told me?”\n\n“I would have told you that there was only one knife like this at King’s Landing.” He\ngrasped the blade between thumb and forefinger, drew it back over his shoulder, and\nthrew it across the room with a practiced flick of his wrist. It struck the door and buried\n"
## [166] "itself deep in the oak, quivering. “It’s mine.”\n\n“Yours?” It made no sense. Petyr had not been at Winterfell.\n\n“Until the tourney on Prince Joffrey’s name day,” he said, crossing the room to wrench\nthe dagger from the wood. “I backed Ser Jaime in the jousting, along with half the\ncourt.” Petyr’s sheepish grin made him look half a boy again. “When Loras Tyrell\nunhorsed him, many of us became a trifle poorer. Ser Jaime lost a hundred golden\ndragons, the queen lost an emerald pendant, and I lost my knife. Her Grace got the\nemerald back, but the winner kept the rest.”\n\n“Who?” Catelyn demanded, her mouth dry with fear. Her fingers ached with\nremembered pain.\n\n“The Imp,” said Littlefinger as Lord Varys watched her face. “Tyrion Lannister.”\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [167] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n JON\nThe courtyard rang to the song of swords.\n\nUnder black wool, boiled leather, and mail, sweat trickled icily down Jon’s chest as he\npressed the attack. Grenn stumbled backward, defending himself clumsily. When he\nraised his sword, Jon went underneath it with a sweeping blow that crunched against the\nback of the other boy’s leg and sent him staggering. Grenn’s downcut was answered by\nan overhand that dented his helm. When he tried a sideswing, Jon swept aside his blade\nand slammed a mailed forearm into his chest. Grenn lost his footing and sat down hard\nin the snow. Jon knocked his sword from his fingers with a slash to his wrist that\nbrought a cry of pain.\n\n“Enough!” Ser Alliser Thorne had a voice with an edge like Valyrian steel.\n\nGrenn cradled his hand. “The bastard broke my wrist.”\n\n“The bastard hamstrung you, opened your empty skull, and cut off your hand. Or would\nhave, if these blades had an edge. It’s fortunate for you that the Watch needs stableboys\nas well as rangers.” Ser Alliser gestured at Jeren and Toad. “Get the Aurochs on his feet,\nhe has funeral arrangements to make.”\n\nJon took off his helm as the other boys were pulling Grenn to his feet. The frosty\nmorning air felt good on his face. He leaned on his sword, drew a deep breath, and\nallowed himself a moment to savor the victory.\n\n“That is a longsword, not an old man’s cane,” Ser Alliser said sharply. “Are your legs\nhurting, Lord Snow?”\n\nJon hated that name, a mockery that Ser Alliser had hung on him the first day he came\nto practice. The boys had picked it up, and now he heard it everywhere. He slid the\nlongsword back into its scabbard. “No,” he replied.\n\nThorne strode toward him, crisp black leathers whispering faintly as he moved. He was a\ncompact man of fifty years, spare and hard, with grey in his black hair and eyes like\nchips of onyx. “The truth now,” he commanded.\n"
## [168] "“I’m tired,” Jon admitted. His arm burned from the weight of the longsword, and he was\nstarting to feel his bruises now that the fight was done.\n\n“What you are is weak.”\n\n“I won.”\n\n“No. The Aurochs lost.”\n\nOne of the other boys sniggered. Jon knew better than to reply. He had beaten everyone\nthat Ser Alliser had sent against him, yet it gained him nothing. The master-at-arms\nserved up only derision. Thorne hated him, Jon had decided; of course, he hated the\nother boys even worse.\n\n“That will be all,” Thorne told them. “I can only stomach so much ineptitude in any one\nday. If the Others ever come for us, I pray they have archers, because you lot are fit for\nnothing more than arrow fodder.”\n\nJon followed the rest back to the armory, walking alone. He often walked alone here.\nThere were almost twenty in the group he trained with, yet not one he could call a friend.\nMost were two or three years his senior, yet not one was half the fighter Robb had been\nat fourteen. Dareon was quick but afraid of being hit. Pyp used his sword like a dagger,\nJeren was weak as a girl, Grenn slow and clumsy. Halder’s blows were brutally hard but\nhe ran right into your attacks. The more time he spent with them, the more Jon despised\nthem.\n\nInside, Jon hung sword and scabbard from a hook in the stone wall, ignoring the others\naround him. Methodically, he began to strip off his mail, leather, and sweat-soaked\nwoolens. Chunks of coal burned in iron braziers at either end of the long room, but Jon\nfound himself shivering. The chill was always with him here. In a few years he would\nforget what it felt like to be warm.\n\nThe weariness came on him suddenly, as he donned the roughspun blacks that were\ntheir everyday wear. He sat on a bench, his fingers fumbling with the fastenings on his\ncloak. So cold, he thought, remembering the warm halls of Winterfell, where the hot\nwaters ran through the walls like blood through a man’s body. There was scant warmth\nto be found in Castle Black; the walls were cold here, and the people colder.\n\nNo one had told him the Night’s Watch would be like this; no one except Tyrion\nLannister. The dwarf had given him the truth on the road north, but by then it had been\ntoo late. Jon wondered if his father had known what the Wall would be like. He must\nhave, he thought; that only made it hurt the worse.\n"
## [169] "Even his uncle had abandoned him in this cold place at the end of the world. Up here,\nthe genial Benjen Stark he had known became a different person. He was First Ranger,\nand he spent his days and nights with Lord Commander Mormont and Maester Aemon\nand the other high officers, while Jon was given over to the less than tender charge of\nSer Alliser Thorne.\n\nThree days after their arrival, Jon had heard that Benjen Stark was to lead a half-dozen\nmen on a ranging into the haunted forest. That night he sought out his uncle in the great\ntimbered common hall and pleaded to go with him. Benjen refused him curtly. “This is\nnot Winterfell,” he told him as he cut his meat with fork and dagger. “On the Wall, a man\ngets only what he earns. You’re no ranger, Jon, only a green boy with the smell of\nsummer still on you.”\n\nStupidly, Jon argued. “I’ll be fifteen on my name day,” he said. “Almost a man grown.”\n\nBenjen Stark frowned. “A boy you are, and a boy you’ll remain until Ser Alliser says you\nare fit to be a man of the Night’s Watch. If you thought your Stark blood would win you\neasy favors, you were wrong. We put aside our old families when we swear our vows.\nYour father will always have a place in my heart, but these are my brothers now.” He\ngestured with his dagger at the men around them, all the hard cold men in black.\n\nJon rose at dawn the next day to watch his uncle leave. One of his rangers, a big ugly\nman, sang a bawdy song as he saddled his garron, his breath steaming in the cold\nmorning air. Ben Stark smiled at that, but he had no smile for his nephew. “How often\nmust I tell you no, Jon? We’ll speak when I return.”\n\nAs he watched his uncle lead his horse into the tunnel, Jon had remembered the things\nthat Tyrion Lannister told him on the kingsroad, and in his mind’s eye he saw Ben Stark\nlying dead, his blood red on the snow. The thought made him sick. What was he\nbecoming?\n\nAfterward he sought out Ghost in the loneliness of his cell, and buried his face in his\nthick white fur.\n\nIf he must be alone, he would make solitude his armor. Castle Black had no godswood,\nonly a small sept and a drunken septon, but Jon could not find it in him to pray to any\ngods, old or new. If they were real, he thought, they were as cruel and implacable as\nwinter.\n\nHe missed his true brothers: little Rickon, bright eyes shining as he begged for a sweet;\nRobb, his rival and best friend and constant companion; Bran, stubborn and curious,\n"
## [170] "always wanting to follow and join in whatever Jon and Robb were doing. He missed the\ngirls too, even Sansa, who never called him anything but “my half brother” since she was\nold enough to understand what bastard meant. And Arya . . . he missed her even more\nthan Robb, skinny little thing that she was, all scraped knees and tangled hair and torn\nclothes, so fierce and willful. Arya never seemed to fit, no more than he had . . . yet she\ncould always make Jon smile. He would give anything to be with her now, to muss up\nher hair once more and watch her make a face, to hear her finish a sentence with him.\n\n“You broke my wrist, bastard boy.”\n\nJon lifted his eyes at the sullen voice. Grenn loomed over him, thick of neck and red of\nface, with three of his friends behind him. He knew Todder, a short ugly boy with an\nunpleasant voice. The recruits all called him Toad. The other two were the ones Yoren\nhad brought north with them, Jon remembered, rapers taken down in the Fingers. He’d\nforgotten their names. He hardly ever spoke to them, if he could help it. They were\nbrutes and bullies, without a thimble of honor between them.\n\nJon stood up. “I’ll break the other one for you if you ask nicely.” Grenn was sixteen and a\nhead taller than Jon. All four of them were bigger than he was, but they did not scare\nhim. He’d beaten every one of them in the yard.\n\n“Maybe we’ll break you,” one of the rapers said.\n\n“Try.” Jon reached back for his sword, but one of them grabbed his arm and twisted it\nbehind his back.\n\n“You make us look bad,” complained Toad.\n\n“You looked bad before I ever met you,” Jon told him. The boy who had his arm jerked\nupward on him, hard. Pain lanced through him, but Jon would not cry out.\n\nToad stepped close. “The little lordling has a mouth on him,” he said. He had pig eyes,\nsmall and shiny. “Is that your mommy’s mouth, bastard? What was she, some whore?\nTell us her name. Maybe I had her a time or two.” He laughed.\n\nJon twisted like an eel and slammed a heel down across the instep of the boy holding\nhim. There was a sudden cry of pain, and he was free. He flew at Toad, knocked him\nbackward over a bench, and landed on his chest with both hands on his throat,\nslamming his head against the packed earth.\n\nThe two from the Fingers pulled him off, throwing him roughly to the ground. Grenn\nbegan to kick at him. Jon was rolling away from the blows when a booming voice cut\n"
## [171] "through the gloom of the armory. “STOP THIS! NOW!”\n\nJon pulled himself to his feet. Donal Noye stood glowering at them. “The yard is for\nfighting,” the armorer said. “Keep your quarrels out of my armory, or I’ll make them my\nquarrels. You won’t like that.”\n\nToad sat on the floor, gingerly feeling the back of his head. His fingers came away\nbloody. “He tried to kill me.”\n\n“ ’S true. I saw it,” one of the rapers put in.\n\n“He broke my wrist,” Grenn said again, holding it out to Noye for inspection.\n\nThe armorer gave the offered wrist the briefest of glances. “A bruise. Perhaps a sprain.\nMaester Aemon will give you a salve. Go with him, Todder, that head wants looking\nafter. The rest of you, return to your cells. Not you, Snow. You stay.”\n\nJon sat heavily on the long wooden bench as the others left, oblivious to the looks they\ngave him, the silent promises of future retribution. His arm was throbbing.\n\n“The Watch has need of every man it can get,” Donal Noye said when they were alone.\n“Even men like Toad. You won’t win any honors killing him.”\n\nJon’s anger flared. “He said my mother was—”\n\n“—a whore. I heard him. What of it?”\n\n“Lord Eddard Stark was not a man to sleep with whores,” Jon said icily. “His honor—”\n\n“—did not prevent him from fathering a bastard. Did it?”\n\nJon was cold with rage. “Can I go?”\n\n“You go when I tell you to go.”\n\nJon stared sullenly at the smoke rising from the brazier, until Noye took him under the\nchin, thick fingers twisting his head around. “Look at me when I’m talking to you, boy.”\n\nJon looked. The armorer had a chest like a keg of ale and a gut to match. His nose was\nflat and broad, and he always seemed in need of a shave. The left sleeve of his black wool\ntunic was fastened at the shoulder with a silver pin in the shape of a longsword. “Words\n"
## [172] "won’t make your mother a whore. She was what she was, and nothing Toad says can\nchange that. You know, we have men on the Wall whose mothers were whores.”\n\nNot my mother, Jon thought stubbornly. He knew nothing of his mother; Eddard Stark\nwould not talk of her. Yet he dreamed of her at times, so often that he could almost see\nher face. In his dreams, she was beautiful, and highborn, and her eyes were kind.\n\n“You think you had it hard, being a high lord’s bastard?” the armorer went on. “That boy\nJeren is a septon’s get, and Cotter Pyke is the baseborn son of a tavern wench. Now he\ncommands Eastwatch by the Sea.”\n\n“I don’t care,” Jon said. “I don’t care about them and I don’t care about you or Thorne or\nBenjen Stark or any of it. I hate it here. It’s too . . . it’s cold.”\n\n“Yes. Cold and hard and mean, that’s the Wall, and the men who walk it. Not like the\nstories your wet nurse told you. Well, piss on the stories and piss on your wet nurse. This\nis the way it is, and you’re here for life, same as the rest of us.”\n\n“Life,” Jon repeated bitterly. The armorer could talk about life. He’d had one. He’d only\ntaken the black after he’d lost an arm at the siege of Storm’s End. Before that he’d\nsmithed for Stannis Baratheon, the king’s brother. He’d seen the Seven Kingdoms from\none end to the other; he’d feasted and wenched and fought in a hundred battles. They\nsaid it was Donal Noye who’d forged King Robert’s warhammer, the one that crushed\nthe life from Rhaegar Targaryen on the Trident. He’d done all the things that Jon would\nnever do, and then when he was old, well past thirty, he’d taken a glancing blow from an\naxe and the wound had festered until the whole arm had to come off. Only then,\ncrippled, had Donal Noye come to the Wall, when his life was all but over.\n\n“Yes, life,” Noye said. “A long life or a short one, it’s up to you, Snow. The road you’re\nwalking, one of your brothers will slit your throat for you one night.”\n\n“They’re not my brothers,” Jon snapped. “They hate me because I’m better than they\nare.”\n\n“No. They hate you because you act like you’re better than they are. They look at you and\nsee a castle-bred bastard who thinks he’s a lordling.” The armorer leaned close. “You’re\nno lordling. Remember that. You’re a Snow, not a Stark. You’re a bastard and a bully.”\n\n“A bully?” Jon almost choked on the word. The accusation was so unjust it took his\nbreath away. “They were the ones who came after me. Four of them.”\n\n“Four that you’ve humiliated in the yard. Four who are probably afraid of you. I’ve\n"
## [173] "watched you fight. It’s not training with you. Put a good edge on your sword, and they’d\nbe dead meat; you know it, I know it, they know it. You leave them nothing. You shame\nthem. Does that make you proud?”\n\nJon hesitated. He did feel proud when he won. Why shouldn’t he? But the armorer was\ntaking that away too, making it sound as if he were doing something wrong. “They’re all\nolder than me,” he said defensively.\n\n“Older and bigger and stronger, that’s the truth. I’ll wager your master-at-arms taught\nyou how to fight bigger men at Winterfell, though. Who was he, some old knight?”\n\n“Ser Rodrik Cassel,” Jon said warily. There was a trap here. He felt it closing around him.\n\nDonal Noye leaned forward, into Jon’s face. “Now think on this, boy. None of these\nothers have ever had a master-at-arms until Ser Alliser. Their fathers were farmers and\nwagonmen and poachers, smiths and miners and oars on a trading galley. What they\nknow of fighting they learned between decks, in the alleys of Oldtown and Lannisport, in\nwayside brothels and taverns on the kingsroad. They may have clacked a few sticks\ntogether before they came here, but I promise you, not one in twenty was ever rich\nenough to own a real sword.” His look was grim. “So how do you like the taste of your\nvictories now, Lord Snow?”\n\n“Don’t call me that!” Jon said sharply, but the force had gone out of his anger. Suddenly\nhe felt ashamed and guilty. “I never . . . I didn’t think . . . ”\n\n“Best you start thinking,” Noye warned him. “That, or sleep with a dagger by your bed.\nNow go.”\n\nBy the time Jon left the armory, it was almost midday. The sun had broken through the\nclouds. He turned his back on it and lifted his eyes to the Wall, blazing blue and\ncrystalline in the sunlight. Even after all these weeks, the sight of it still gave him the\nshivers. Centuries of windblown dirt had pocked and scoured it, covering it like a film,\nand it often seemed a pale grey, the color of an overcast sky . . . but when the sun caught\nit fair on a bright day, it shone, alive with light, a colossal blue-white cliff that filled up\nhalf the sky.\n\nThe largest structure ever built by the hands of man, Benjen Stark had told Jon on the\nkingsroad when they had first caught sight of the Wall in the distance. “And beyond a\ndoubt the most useless,” Tyrion Lannister had added with a grin, but even the Imp grew\nsilent as they rode closer. You could see it from miles off, a pale blue line across the\nnorthern horizon, stretching away to the east and west and vanishing in the far distance,\nimmense and unbroken. This is the end of the world, it seemed to say.\n"
## [174] "When they finally spied Castle Black, its timbered keeps and stone towers looked like\nnothing more than a handful of toy blocks scattered on the snow, beneath the vast wall\nof ice. The ancient stronghold of the black brothers was no Winterfell, no true castle at\nall. Lacking walls, it could not be defended, not from the south, or east, or west; but it\nwas only the north that concerned the Night’s Watch, and to the north loomed the Wall.\nAlmost seven hundred feet high it stood, three times the height of the tallest tower in the\nstronghold it sheltered. His uncle said the top was wide enough for a dozen armored\nknights to ride abreast. The gaunt outlines of huge catapults and monstrous wooden\ncranes stood sentry up there, like the skeletons of great birds, and among them walked\nmen in black as small as ants.\n\nAs he stood outside the armory looking up, Jon felt almost as overwhelmed as he had\nthat day on the kingsroad, when he’d seen it for the first time. The Wall was like that.\nSometimes he could almost forget that it was there, the way you forgot about the sky or\nthe earth underfoot, but there were other times when it seemed as if there was nothing\nelse in the world. It was older than the Seven Kingdoms, and when he stood beneath it\nand looked up, it made Jon dizzy. He could feel the great weight of all that ice pressing\ndown on him, as if it were about to topple, and somehow Jon knew that if it fell, the\nworld fell with it.\n\n“Makes you wonder what lies beyond,” a familiar voice said.\n\nJon looked around. “Lannister. I didn’t see—I mean, I thought I was alone.”\n\nTyrion Lannister was bundled in furs so thickly he looked like a very small bear. “There’s\nmuch to be said for taking people unawares. You never know what you might learn.”\n\n“You won’t learn anything from me,” Jon told him. He had seen little of the dwarf since\ntheir journey ended. As the queen’s own brother, Tyrion Lannister had been an honored\nguest of the Night’s Watch. The Lord Commander had given him rooms in the King’s\nTower—so-called, though no king had visited it for a hundred years—and Lannister\ndined at Mormont’s own table and spent his days riding the Wall and his nights dicing\nand drinking with Ser Alliser and Bowen Marsh and the other high officers.\n\n“Oh, I learn things everywhere I go.” The little man gestured up at the Wall with a\ngnarled black walking stick. “As I was saying . . . why is it that when one man builds a\nwall, the next man immediately needs to know what’s on the other side?” He cocked his\nhead and looked at Jon with his curious mismatched eyes. “You do want to know what’s\non the other side, don’t you?”\n\n“It’s nothing special,” Jon said. He wanted to ride with Benjen Stark on his rangings,\n"
## [175] "deep into the mysteries of the haunted forest, wanted to fight Mance Rayder’s wildlings\nand ward the realm against the Others, but it was better not to speak of the things you\nwanted. “The rangers say it’s just woods and mountains and frozen lakes, with lots of\nsnow and ice.”\n\n“And the grumkins and the snarks,” Tyrion said. “Let us not forget them, Lord Snow, or\nelse what’s that big thing for?”\n\n“Don’t call me Lord Snow.”\n\nThe dwarf lifted an eyebrow. “Would you rather be called the Imp? Let them see that\ntheir words can cut you, and you’ll never be free of the mockery. If they want to give you\na name, take it, make it your own. Then they can’t hurt you with it anymore.” He\ngestured with his stick. “Come, walk with me. They’ll be serving some vile stew in the\ncommon hall by now, and I could do with a bowl of something hot.”\n\nJon was hungry too, so he fell in beside Lannister and slowed his pace to match the\ndwarf’s awkward, waddling steps. The wind was rising, and they could hear the old\nwooden buildings creaking around them, and in the distance a heavy shutter banging,\nover and over, forgotten. Once there was a muffled thump as a blanket of snow slid from\na roof and landed near them.\n\n“I don’t see your wolf,” Lannister said as they walked.\n\n“I chain him up in the old stables when we’re training. They board all the horses in the\neast stables now, so no one bothers him. The rest of the time he stays with me. My\nsleeping cell is in Hardin’s Tower.”\n\n“That’s the one with the broken battlement, no? Shattered stone in the yard below, and a\nlean to it like our noble king Robert after a long night’s drinking? I thought all those\nbuildings had been abandoned.”\n\nJon shrugged. “No one cares where you sleep. Most of the old keeps are empty, you can\npick any cell you want.” Once Castle Black had housed five thousand fighting men with\nall their horses and servants and weapons. Now it was home to a tenth that number, and\nparts of it were falling into ruin.\n\nTyrion Lannister’s laughter steamed in the cold air. “I’ll be sure to tell your father to\narrest more stonemasons, before your tower collapses.”\n\nJon could taste the mockery there, but there was no denying the truth. The Watch had\nbuilt nineteen great strongholds along the Wall, but only three were still occupied:\n"
## [176] "Eastwatch on its grey windswept shore, the Shadow Tower hard by the mountains where\nthe Wall ended, and Castle Black between them, at the end of the kingsroad. The other\nkeeps, long deserted, were lonely, haunted places, where cold winds whistled through\nblack windows and the spirits of the dead manned the parapets.\n\n“It’s better that I’m by myself,” Jon said stubbornly. “The rest of them are scared of\nGhost.”\n\n“Wise boys,” Lannister said. Then he changed the subject. “The talk is, your uncle is too\nlong away.”\n\nJon remembered the wish he’d wished in his anger, the vision of Benjen Stark dead in\nthe snow, and he looked away quickly. The dwarf had a way of sensing things, and Jon\ndid not want him to see the guilt in his eyes. “He said he’d be back by my name day,” he\nadmitted. His name day had come and gone, unremarked, a fortnight past. “They were\nlooking for Ser Waymar Royce, his father is bannerman to Lord Arryn. Uncle Benjen\nsaid they might search as far as the Shadow Tower. That’s all the way up in the\nmountains.”\n\n“I hear that a good many rangers have vanished of late,” Lannister said as they mounted\nthe steps to the common hall. He grinned and pulled open the door. “Perhaps the\ngrumkins are hungry this year.”\n\nInside, the hall was immense and drafty, even with a fire roaring in its great hearth.\nCrows nested in the timbers of its lofty ceiling. Jon heard their cries overhead as he\naccepted a bowl of stew and a heel of black bread from the day’s cooks. Grenn and Toad\nand some of the others were seated at the bench nearest the warmth, laughing and\ncursing each other in rough voices. Jon eyed them thoughtfully for a moment. Then he\nchose a spot at the far end of the hall, well away from the other diners.\n\nTyrion Lannister sat across from him, sniffing at the stew suspiciously. “Barley, onion,\ncarrot,” he muttered. “Someone should tell the cooks that turnip isn’t a meat.”\n\n“It’s mutton stew.” Jon pulled off his gloves and warmed his hands in the steam rising\nfrom the bowl. The smell made his mouth water.\n\n“Snow.”\n\nJon knew Alliser Thorne’s voice, but there was a curious note in it that he had not heard\nbefore. He turned.\n\n“The Lord Commander wants to see you. Now.”\n"
## [177] "For a moment Jon was too frightened to move. Why would the Lord Commander want\nto see him? They had heard something about Benjen, he thought wildly, he was dead, the\nvision had come true. “Is it my uncle?” he blurted. “Is he returned safe?”\n\n“The Lord Commander is not accustomed to waiting,” was Ser Alliser’s reply. “And I am\nnot accustomed to having my commands questioned by bastards.”\n\nTyrion Lannister swung off the bench and rose. “Stop it, Thorne. You’re frightening the\nboy.”\n\n“Keep out of matters that don’t concern you, Lannister. You have no place here.”\n\n“I have a place at court, though,” the dwarf said, smiling. “A word in the right ear, and\nyou’ll die a sour old man before you get another boy to train. Now tell Snow why the Old\nBear needs to see him. Is there news of his uncle?”\n\n“No,” Ser Alliser said. “This is another matter entirely. A bird arrived this morning from\nWinterfell, with a message that concerns his brother.” He corrected himself. “His half\nbrother.”\n\n“Bran,” Jon breathed, scrambling to his feet. “Something’s happened to Bran.”\n\nTyrion Lannister laid a hand on his arm. “Jon,” he said. “I am truly sorry.”\n\nJon scarcely heard him. He brushed off Tyrion’s hand and strode across the hall. He was\nrunning by the time he hit the doors. He raced to the Commander’s Keep, dashing\nthrough drifts of old snow. When the guards passed him, he took the tower steps two at\na time. By the time he burst into the presence of the Lord Commander, his boots were\nsoaked and Jon was wild-eyed and panting. “Bran,” he said. “What does it say about\nBran?”\n\nJeor Mormont, Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, was a gruff old man with an\nimmense bald head and a shaggy grey beard. He had a raven on his arm, and he was\nfeeding it kernels of corn. “I am told you can read.” He shook the raven off, and it\nflapped its wings and flew to the window, where it sat watching as Mormont drew a roll\nof paper from his belt and handed it to Jon. “Corn,” it muttered in a raucous voice.\n“Corn, corn.”\n\nJon’s finger traced the outline of the direwolf in the white wax of the broken seat. He\nrecognized Robb’s hand, but the letters seemed to blur and run as he tried to read them.\nHe realized he was crying. And then, through the tears, he found the sense in the words,\n"
## [178] "and raised his head. “He woke up,” he said. “The gods gave him back.”\n\n“Crippled,” Mormont said. “I’m sorry, boy. Read the rest of the letter.”\n\nHe looked at the words, but they didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Bran was going to\nlive. “My brother is going to live,” he told Mormont. The Lord Commander shook his\nhead, gathered up a fistful of corn, and whistled. The raven flew to his shoulder, crying,\n“Live! Live!”\n\nJon ran down the stairs, a smile on his face and Robb’s letter in his hand. “My brother is\ngoing to live,” he told the guards. They exchanged a look. He ran back to the common\nhall, where he found Tyrion Lannister just finishing his meal. He grabbed the little man\nunder the arms, hoisted him up in the air, and spun him around in a circle. “Bran is\ngoing to live!” he whooped. Lannister looked startled. Jon put him down and thrust the\npaper into his hands. “Here, read it,” he said.\n\nOthers were gathering around and looking at him curiously. Jon noticed Grenn a few\nfeet away. A thick woolen bandage was wrapped around one hand. He looked anxious\nand uncomfortable, not menacing at all. Jon went to him. Grenn edged backward and\nput up his hands. “Stay away from me now, you bastard.”\n\nJon smiled at him. “I’m sorry about your wrist. Robb used the same move on me once,\nonly with a wooden blade. It hurt like seven hells, but yours must be worse. Look, if you\nwant, I can show you how to defend that.”\n\nAlliser Thorne overheard him. “Lord Snow wants to take my place now.” He sneered.\n“I’d have an easier time teaching a wolf to juggle than you will training this aurochs.”\n\n“I’ll take that wager, Ser Alliser,” Jon said. “I’d love to see Ghost juggle.”\n\nJon heard Grenn suck in his breath, shocked. Silence fell.\n\nThen Tyrion Lannister guffawed. Three of the black brothers joined in from a nearby\ntable. The laughter spread up and down the benches, until even the cooks joined in. The\nbirds stirred in the rafters, and finally even Grenn began to chuckle.\n\nSer Alliser never took his eyes from Jon. As the laughter rolled around him, his face\ndarkened, and his sword hand curled into a fist. “That was a grievous error, Lord Snow,”\nhe said at last in the acid tones of an enemy.\n"
## [179] "previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [180] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n EDDARD\nEddard Stark rode through the towering bronze doors of the Red Keep sore, tired,\nhungry, and irritable. He was still ahorse, dreaming of a long hot soak, a roast fowl, and\na featherbed, when the king’s steward told him that Grand Maester Pycelle had\nconvened an urgent meeting of the small council. The honor of the Hand’s presence was\nrequested as soon as it was convenient. “It will be convenient on the morrow,” Ned\nsnapped as he dismounted.\n\nThe steward bowed very low. “I shall give the councillors your regrets, my lord.”\n\n“No, damn it,” Ned said. It would not do to offend the council before he had even begun.\n“I will see them. Pray give me a few moments to change into something more\npresentable.”\n\n“Yes, my lord,” the steward said. “We have given you Lord Arryn’s former chambers in\nthe Tower of the Hand, if it please you. I shall have your things taken there.”\n\n“My thanks,” Ned said as he ripped off his riding gloves and tucked them into his belt.\nThe rest of his household was coming through the gate behind him. Ned saw Vayon\nPoole, his own steward, and called out. “It seems the council has urgent need of me. See\nthat my daughters find their bedchambers, and tell Jory to keep them there. Arya is not\nto go exploring.” Poole bowed. Ned turned back to the royal steward. “My wagons are\nstill straggling through the city. I shall need appropriate garments.”\n\n“It will be my great pleasure,” the steward said.\n\nAnd so Ned had come striding into the council chambers, bone-tired and dressed in\nborrowed clothing, to find four members of the small council waiting for him.\n\nThe chamber was richly furnished. Myrish carpets covered the floor instead of rushes,\nand in one corner a hundred fabulous beasts cavorted in bright paints on a carved screen\nfrom the Summer Isles. The walls were hung with tapestries from Norvos and Qohor and\nLys, and a pair of Valyrian sphinxes flanked the door, eyes of polished garnet smoldering\nin black marble faces.\n\nThe councillor Ned liked least, the eunuch Varys, accosted him the moment he entered.\n"
## [181] "“Lord Stark, I was grievous sad to hear about your troubles on the kingsroad. We have\nall been visiting the sept to light candles for Prince Joffrey. I pray for his recovery.” His\nhand left powder stains on Ned’s sleeve, and he smelled as foul and sweet as flowers on a\ngrave.\n\n“Your gods have heard you,” Ned replied, cool yet polite. “The prince grows stronger\nevery day.” He disentangled himself from the eunuch’s grip and crossed the room to\nwhere Lord Renly stood by the screen, talking quietly with a short man who could only\nbe Littlefinger. Renly had been a boy of eight when Robert won the throne, but he had\ngrown into a man so like his brother that Ned found it disconcerting. Whenever he saw\nhim, it was as if the years had slipped away and Robert stood before him, fresh from his\nvictory on the Trident.\n\n“I see you have arrived safely, Lord Stark,” Renly said.\n\n“And you as well,” Ned replied. “You must forgive me, but sometimes you look the very\nimage of your brother Robert.”\n\n“A poor copy,” Renly said with a shrug.\n\n“Though much better dressed,” Littlefinger quipped. “Lord Renly spends more on\nclothing than half the ladies of the court.”\n\nIt was true enough. Lord Renly was in dark green velvet, with a dozen golden stags\nembroidered on his doublet. A cloth-of-gold half cape was draped casually across one\nshoulder, fastened with an emerald brooch. “There are worse crimes,” Renly said with a\nlaugh. “The way you dress, for one.”\n\nLittlefinger ignored the jibe. He eyed Ned with a smile on his lips that bordered on\ninsolence. “I have hoped to meet you for some years, Lord Stark. No doubt Lady Catelyn\nhas mentioned me to you.”\n\n“She has,” Ned replied with a chill in his voice. The sly arrogance of the comment\nrankled him. “I understand you knew my brother Brandon as well.”\n\nRenly Baratheon laughed. Varys shuffled over to listen.\n\n“Rather too well,” Littlefinger said. “I still carry a token of his esteem. Did Brandon\nspeak of me too?”\n\n“Often, and with some heat,” Ned said, hoping that would end it. He had no patience\nwith this game they played, this dueling with words.\n"
## [182] "“I should have thought that heat ill suits you Starks,” Littlefinger said. “Here in the\nsouth, they say you are all made of ice, and melt when you ride below the Neck.”\n\n“I do not plan on melting soon, Lord Baelish. You may count on it.” Ned moved to the\ncouncil table and said, “Maester Pycelle, I trust you are well.”\n\nThe Grand Maester smiled gently from his tall chair at the foot of the table. “Well\nenough for a man of my years, my lord,” he replied, “yet I do tire easily, I fear.” Wispy\nstrands of white hair fringed the broad bald dome of his forehead above a kindly face.\nHis maester’s collar was no simple metal choker such as Luwin wore, but two dozen\nheavy chains wound together into a ponderous metal necklace that covered him from\nthroat to breast. The links were forged of every metal known to man: black iron and red\ngold, bright copper and dull lead, steel and tin and pale silver, brass and bronze and\nplatinum. Garnets and amethysts and black pearls adorned the metalwork, and here and\nthere an emerald or ruby. “Perhaps we might begin soon,” the Grand Maester said,\nhands knitting together atop his broad stomach. “I fear I shall fall asleep if we wait much\nlonger.”\n\n“As you will.” The king’s seat sat empty at the head of the table, the crowned stag of\nBaratheon embroidered in gold thread on its pillows. Ned took the chair beside it, as the\nright hand of his king. “My lords,” he said formally, “I am sorry to have kept you\nwaiting.”\n\n“You are the King’s Hand,” Varys said. “We serve at your pleasure, Lord Stark.”\n\nAs the others took their accustomed seats, it struck Eddard Stark forcefully that he did\nnot belong here, in this room, with these men. He remembered what Robert had told\nhim in the crypts below Winterfell. I am surrounded by flatterers and fools, the king\nhad insisted. Ned looked down the council table and wondered which were the flatterers\nand which the fools. He thought he knew already. “We are but five,” he pointed out.\n\n“Lord Stannis took himself to Dragonstone not long after the king went north,” Varys\nsaid, “and our gallant Ser Barristan no doubt rides beside the king as he makes his way\nthrough the city, as befits the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.”\n\n“Perhaps we had best wait for Ser Barristan and the king to join us,” Ned suggested.\n\nRenly Baratheon laughed aloud. “If we wait for my brother to grace us with his royal\npresence, it could be a long sit.”\n\n“Our good King Robert has many cares,” Varys said. “He entrusts some small matters to\n"
## [183] "us, to lighten his load.”\n\n“What Lord Varys means is that all this business of coin and crops and justice bores my\nroyal brother to tears,” Lord Renly said, “so it falls to us to govern the realm. He does\nsend us a command from time to time.” He drew a tightly rolled paper from his sleeve\nand laid it on the table. “This morning he commanded me to ride ahead with all haste\nand ask Grand Maester Pycelle to convene this council at once. He has an urgent task for\nus.”\n\nLittlefinger smiled and handed the paper to Ned. It bore the royal seal. Ned broke the\nwax with his thumb and flattened the letter to consider the king’s urgent command,\nreading the words with mounting disbelief. Was there no end to Robert’s folly? And to\ndo this in his name, that was salt in the wound. “Gods be good,” he swore.\n\n“What Lord Eddard means to say,” Lord Renly announced, “is that His Grace instructs\nus to stage a great tournament in honor of his appointment as the Hand of the King.”\n\n“How much?” asked Littlefinger, mildly.\n\nNed read the answer off the letter. “Forty thousand golden dragons to the champion.\nTwenty thousand to the man who comes second, another twenty to the winner of the\nmelee, and ten thousand to the victor of the archery competition.”\n\n“Ninety thousand gold pieces,” Littlefinger sighed. “And we must not neglect the other\ncosts. Robert will want a prodigious feast. That means cooks, carpenters, serving girls,\nsingers, jugglers, fools . . . ”\n\n“Fools we have in plenty,” Lord Renly said.\n\nGrand Maester Pycelle looked to Littlefinger and asked, “Will the treasury bear the\nexpense?”\n\n“What treasury is that?” Littlefinger replied with a twist of his mouth. “Spare me the\nfoolishness, Maester. You know as well as I that the treasury has been empty for years. I\nshall have to borrow the money. No doubt the Lannisters will be accommodating. We\nowe Lord Tywin some three million dragons at present, what matter another hundred\nthousand?”\n\nNed was stunned. “Are you claiming that the Crown is three million gold pieces in debt?”\n\n“The Crown is more than six million gold pieces in debt, Lord Stark. The Lannisters are\nthe biggest part of it, but we have also borrowed from Lord Tyrell, the Iron Bank of\n"
## [184] "Braavos, and several Tyroshi trading cartels. Of late I’ve had to turn to the Faith. The\nHigh Septon haggles worse than a Dornish fishmonger.”\n\nNed was aghast. “Aerys Targaryen left a treasury flowing with gold. How could you let\nthis happen?”\n\nLittlefinger gave a shrug. “The master of coin finds the money. The king and the Hand\nspend it.”\n\n“I will not believe that Jon Arryn allowed Robert to beggar the realm,” Ned said hotly.\n\nGrand Maester Pycelle shook his great bald head, his chains clinking softly. “Lord Arryn\nwas a prudent man, but I fear that His Grace does not always listen to wise counsel.”\n\n“My royal brother loves tournaments and feasts,” Renly Baratheon said, “and he loathes\nwhat he calls ‘counting coppers.’ ”\n\n“I will speak with His Grace,” Ned said. “This tourney is an extravagance the realm\ncannot afford.”\n\n“Speak to him as you will,” Lord Renly said, “we had still best make our plans.”\n\n“Another day,” Ned said. Perhaps too sharply, from the looks they gave him. He would\nhave to remember that he was no longer in Winterfell, where only the king stood higher;\nhere, he was but first among equals. “Forgive me, my lords,” he said in a softer tone. “I\nam tired. Let us call a halt for today and resume when we are fresher.” He did not ask for\ntheir consent, but stood abruptly, nodded at them all, and made for the door.\n\nOutside, wagons and riders were still pouring through the castle gates, and the yard was\na chaos of mud and horseflesh and shouting men. The king had not yet arrived, he was\ntold. Since the ugliness on the Trident, the Starks and their household had ridden well\nahead of the main column, the better to separate themselves from the Lannisters and the\ngrowing tension. Robert had hardly been seen; the talk was he was traveling in the huge\nwheelhouse, drunk as often as not. If so, he might be hours behind, but he would still be\nhere too soon for Ned’s liking. He had only to look at Sansa’s face to feel the rage\ntwisting inside him once again. The last fortnight of their journey had been a misery.\nSansa blamed Arya and told her that it should have been Nymeria who died. And Arya\nwas lost after she heard what had happened to her butcher’s boy. Sansa cried herself to\nsleep, Arya brooded silently all day long, and Eddard Stark dreamed of a frozen hell\nreserved for the Starks of Winterfell.\n\nHe crossed the outer yard, passed under a portcullis into the inner bailey, and was\n"
## [185] "walking toward what he thought was the Tower of the Hand when Littlefinger appeared\nin front of him. “You’re going the wrong way, Stark. Come with me.”\n\nHesitantly, Ned followed. Littlefinger led him into a tower, down a stair, across a small\nsunken courtyard, and along a deserted corridor where empty suits of armor stood\nsentinel along the walls. They were relics of the Targaryens, black steel with dragon\nscales cresting their helms, now dusty and forgotten. “This is not the way to my\nchambers,” Ned said.\n\n“Did I say it was? I’m leading you to the dungeons to slit your throat and seal your\ncorpse up behind a wall,” Littlefinger replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “We have\nno time for this, Stark. Your wife awaits.”\n\n“What game are you playing, Littlefinger? Catelyn is at Winterfell, hundreds of leagues\nfrom here.”\n\n“Oh?” Littlefinger’s grey-green eyes glittered with amusement. “Then it appears\nsomeone has managed an astonishing impersonation. For the last time, come. Or don’t\ncome, and I’ll keep her for myself.” He hurried down the steps.\n\nNed followed him warily, wondering if this day would ever end. He had no taste for these\nintrigues, but he was beginning to realize that they were meat and mead to a man like\nLittlefinger.\n\nAt the foot of the steps was a heavy door of oak and iron. Petyr Baelish lifted the crossbar\nand gestured Ned through. They stepped out into the ruddy glow of dusk, on a rocky\nbluff high above the river. “We’re outside the castle,” Ned said.\n\n“You are a hard man to fool, Stark,” Littlefinger said with a smirk. “Was it the sun that\ngave it away, or the sky? Follow me. There are niches cut in the rock. Try not to fall to\nyour death, Catelyn would never understand.” With that, he was over the side of the cliff,\ndescending as quick as a monkey.\n\nNed studied the rocky face of the bluff for a moment, then followed more slowly. The\nniches were there, as Littlefinger had promised, shallow cuts that would be invisible\nfrom below, unless you knew just where to look for them. The river was a long, dizzying\ndistance below. Ned kept his face pressed to the rock and tried not to look down any\nmore often than he had to.\n\nWhen at last he reached the bottom, a narrow, muddy trail along the water’s edge,\nLittlefinger was lazing against a rock and eating an apple. He was almost down to the\ncore. “You are growing old and slow, Stark,” he said, flipping the apple casually into the\n"
## [186] "rushing water. “No matter, we ride the rest of the way.” He had two horses waiting. Ned\nmounted up and trotted behind him, down the trail and into the city.\n\nFinally Baelish drew rein in front of a ramshackle building, three stories, timbered, its\nwindows bright with lamplight in the gathering dusk. The sounds of music and raucous\nlaughter drifted out and floated over the water. Beside the door swung an ornate oil\nlamp on a heavy chain, with a globe of leaded red glass.\n\nNed Stark dismounted in a fury. “A brothel,” he said as he seized Littlefinger by the\nshoulder and spun him around. “You’ve brought me all this way to take me to a brothel.”\n\n“Your wife is inside,” Littlefinger said.\n\nIt was the final insult. “Brandon was too kind to you,” Ned said as he slammed the small\nman back against a wall and shoved his dagger up under the little pointed chin beard.\n\n“My lord, no,” an urgent voice called out. “He speaks the truth.” There were footsteps\nbehind him.\n\nNed spun, knife in hand, as an old white-haired man hurried toward them. He was\ndressed in brown roughspun, and the soft flesh under his chin wobbled as he ran. “This\nis no business of yours,” Ned began; then, suddenly, the recognition came. He lowered\nthe dagger, astonished. “Ser Rodrik?”\n\nRodrik Cassel nodded. “Your lady awaits you upstairs.”\n\nNed was lost. “Catelyn is truly here? This is not some strange jape of Littlefinger’s?” He\nsheathed his blade.\n\n“Would that it were, Stark,” Littlefinger said. “Follow me, and try to look a shade more\nlecherous and a shade less like the King’s Hand. It would not do to have you recognized.\nPerhaps you could fondle a breast or two, just in passing.”\n\nThey went inside, through a crowded common room where a fat woman was singing\nbawdy songs while pretty young girls in linen shifts and wisps of colored silk pressed\nthemselves against their lovers and dandled on their laps. No one paid Ned the least bit\nof attention. Ser Rodrik waited below while Littlefinger led him up to the third floor,\nalong a corridor, and through a door.\n\nInside, Catelyn was waiting. She cried out when she saw him, ran to him, and embraced\nhim fiercely.\n"
## [187] "“My lady,” Ned whispered in wonderment.\n\n“Oh, very good,” said Littlefinger, closing the door. “You recognized her.”\n\n“I feared you’d never come, my lord,” she whispered against his chest. “Petyr has been\nbringing me reports. He told me of your troubles with Arya and the young prince. How\nare my girls?”\n\n“Both in mourning, and full of anger,” he told her. “Cat, I do not understand. What are\nyou doing in King’s Landing? What’s happened?” Ned asked his wife. “Is it Bran? Is\nhe . . . ”Dead was the word that came to his lips, but he could not say it.\n\n“It is Bran, but not as you think,” Catelyn said.\n\nNed was lost. “Then how? Why are you here, my love? What is this place?”\n\n“Just what it appears,” Littlefinger said, easing himself onto a window seat. “A brothel.\nCan you think of a less likely place to find a Catelyn Tully?” He smiled. “As it chances, I\nown this particular establishment, so arrangements were easily made. I am most anxious\nto keep the Lannisters from learning that Cat is here in King’s Landing.”\n\n“Why?” Ned asked. He saw her hands then, the awkward way she held them, the raw red\nscars, the stiffness of the last two fingers on her left. “You’ve been hurt.” He took her\nhands in his own, turned them over. “Gods. Those are deep cuts . . . a gash from a sword\nor . . . how did this happen, my lady?”\n\nCatelyn slid a dagger out from under her cloak and placed it in his hand. “This blade was\nsent to open Bran’s throat and spill his life’s blood.”\n\nNed’s head jerked up. “But . . . who . . . why would . . . ”\n\nShe put a finger to his lips. “Let me tell it all, my love. It will go faster that way. Listen.”\n\nSo he listened, and she told it all, from the fire in the library tower to Varys and the\nguardsmen and Littlefinger. And when she was done, Eddard Stark sat dazed beside the\ntable, the dagger in his hand. Bran’s wolf had saved the boy’s life, he thought dully. What\nwas it that Jon had said when they found the pups in the snow? Your children were\nmeant to have these pups, my lord. And he had killed Sansa’s, and for what? Was it guilt\nhe was feeling? Or fear? If the gods had sent these wolves, what folly had he done?\n\nPainfully, Ned forced his thoughts back to the dagger and what it meant. “The Imp’s\n"
## [188] "dagger,” he repeated. It made no sense. His hand curled around the smooth dragonbone\nhilt, and he slammed the blade into the table, felt it bite into the wood. It stood mocking\nhim. “Why should Tyrion Lannister want Bran dead? The boy has never done him harm.”\n\n“Do you Starks have nought but snow between your ears?” Littlefinger asked. “The Imp\nwould never have acted alone.”\n\nNed rose and paced the length of the room. “If the queen had a role in this or, gods\nforbid, the king himself . . . no, I will not believe that.” Yet even as he said the words, he\nremembered that chill morning on the barrowlands, and Robert’s talk of sending hired\nknives after the Targaryen princess. He remembered Rhaegar’s infant son, the red ruin\nof his skull, and the way the king had turned away, as he had turned away in Darry’s\naudience hall not so long ago. He could still hear Sansa pleading, as Lyanna had pleaded\nonce.\n\n“Most likely the king did not know,” Littlefinger said. “It would not be the first time. Our\ngood Robert is practiced at closing his eyes to things he would rather not see.”\n\nNed had no reply for that. The face of the butcher’s boy swam up before his eyes, cloven\nalmost in two, and afterward the king had said not a word. His head was pounding.\n\nLittlefinger sauntered over to the table, wrenched the knife from the wood. “The\naccusation is treason either way. Accuse the king and you will dance with Ilyn Payne\nbefore the words are out of your mouth. The queen . . . if you can find proof, and if you\ncan make Robert listen, then perhaps . . . ”\n\n“We have proof,” Ned said. “We have the dagger.”\n\n“This?” Littlefinger flipped the knife casually end over end. “A sweet piece of steel, but it\ncuts two ways, my lord. The Imp will no doubt swear the blade was lost or stolen while\nhe was at Winterfell, and with his hireling dead, who is there to give him the lie?” He\ntossed the knife lightly to Ned. “My counsel is to drop that in the river and forget that it\nwas ever forged.”\n\nNed regarded him coldly. “Lord Baelish, I am a Stark of Winterfell. My son lies crippled,\nperhaps dying. He would be dead, and Catelyn with him, but for a wolf pup we found in\nthe snow. If you truly believe I could forget that, you are as big a fool now as when you\ntook up sword against my brother.”\n\n“A fool I may be, Stark . . . yet I’m still here, while your brother has been moldering in\nhis frozen grave for some fourteen years now. If you are so eager to molder beside him,\nfar be it from me to dissuade you, but I would rather not be included in the party, thank\n"
## [189] "you very much.”\n\n“You would be the last man I would willingly include in any party, Lord Baelish.”\n\n“You wound me deeply.” Littlefinger placed a hand over his heart. “For my part, I always\nfound you Starks a tiresome lot, but Cat seems to have become attached to you, for\nreasons I cannot comprehend. I shall try to keep you alive for her sake. A fool’s task,\nadmittedly, but I could never refuse your wife anything.”\n\n“I told Petyr our suspicions about Jon Arryn’s death,” Catelyn said. “He has promised to\nhelp you find the truth.”\n\nThat was not news that Eddard Stark welcomed, but it was true enough that they needed\nhelp, and Littlefinger had been almost a brother to Cat once. It would not be the first\ntime that Ned had been forced to make common cause with a man he despised. “Very\nwell,” he said, thrusting the dagger into his belt. “You spoke of Varys. Does the eunuch\nknow all of it?”\n\n“Not from my lips,” Catelyn said. “You did not wed a fool, Eddard Stark. But Varys has\nways of learning things that no man could know. He has some dark art, Ned, I swear it.”\n\n“He has spies, that is well known,” Ned said, dismissive.\n\n“It is more than that,” Catelyn insisted. “Ser Rodrik spoke to Ser Aron Santagar in all\nsecrecy, yet somehow the Spider knew of their conversation. I fear that man.”\n\nLittlefinger smiled. “Leave Lord Varys to me, sweet lady. If you will permit me a small\nobscenity—and where better for it—I hold the man’s balls in the palm of my hand.” He\ncupped his fingers, smiling. “Or would, if he were a man, or had any balls. You see, if the\npie is opened, the birds begin to sing, and Varys would not like that. Were I you, I would\nworry more about the Lannisters and less about the eunuch.”\n\nNed did not need Littlefinger to tell him that. He was thinking back to the day Arya had\nbeen found, to the look on the queen’s face when she said, We have a wolf, so soft and\nquiet. He was thinking of the boy Mycah, of Jon Arryn’s sudden death, of Bran’s fall, of\nold mad Aerys Targaryen dying on the floor of his throne room while his life’s blood\ndried on a golden blade. “My lady,” he said, turning to Catelyn, “there is nothing more\nyou can do here. I want you to return to Winterfell at once. If there was one assassin,\nthere could be others. Whoever ordered Bran’s death will learn soon enough that the boy\nstill lives.”\n\n“I had hoped to see the girls . . . ” Catelyn said.\n"
## [190] "“That would be most unwise,” Littlefinger put in. “The Red Keep is full of curious eyes,\nand children talk.”\n\n“He speaks truly, my love,” Ned told her. He embraced her. “Take Ser Rodrik and ride\nfor Winterfell. I will watch over the girls. Go home to our sons and keep them safe.”\n\n“As you say, my lord.” Catelyn lifted her face, and Ned kissed her. Her maimed fingers\nclutched against his back with a desperate strength, as if to hold him safe forever in the\nshelter of her arms.\n\n“Would the lord and lady like the use of a bedchamber?” asked Littlefinger. “I should\nwarn you, Stark, we usually charge for that sort of thing around here.”\n\n“A moment alone, that’s all I ask,” Catelyn said.\n\n“Very well.” Littlefinger strolled to the door. “Don’t be too long. It is past time the Hand\nand I returned to the castle, before our absence is noted.”\n\nCatelyn went to him and took his hands in her own. “I will not forget the help you gave\nme, Petyr. When your men came for me, I did not know whether they were taking me to\na friend or an enemy. I have found you more than a friend. I have found a brother I’d\nthought lost.”\n\nPetyr Baelish smiled. “I am desperately sentimental, sweet lady. Best not tell anyone. I\nhave spent years convincing the court that I am wicked and cruel, and I should hate to\nsee all that hard work go for naught.”\n\nNed believed not a word of that, but he kept his voice polite as he said, “You have my\nthanks as well, Lord Baelish.”\n\n“Oh, now there’s a treasure,” Littlefinger said, exiting.\n\nWhen the door had closed behind him, Ned turned back to his wife. “Once you are home,\nsend word to Helman Tallhart and Galbart Glover under my seal. They are to raise a\nhundred bowmen each and fortify Moat Cailin. Two hundred determined archers can\nhold the Neck against an army. Instruct Lord Manderly that he is to strengthen and\nrepair all his defenses at White Harbor, and see that they are well manned. And from\nthis day on, I want a careful watch kept over Theon Greyjoy. If there is war, we shall\nhave sore need of his father’s fleet.”\n\n“War?” The fear was plain on Catelyn’s face.\n"
## [191] "“It will not come to that,” Ned promised her, praying it was true. He took her in his arms\nagain. “The Lannisters are merciless in the face of weakness, as Aerys Targaryen learned\nto his sorrow, but they would not dare attack the north without all the power of the\nrealm behind them, and that they shall not have. I must play out this fool’s masquerade\nas if nothing is amiss. Remember why I came here, my love. If I find proof that the\nLannisters murdered Jon Arryn . . . ”\n\nHe felt Catelyn tremble in his arms. Her scarred hands clung to him. “If,” she said, “what\nthen, my love?”\n\nThat was the most dangerous part, Ned knew. “All justice flows from the king,” he told\nher. “When I know the truth, I must go to Robert.” And pray that he is the man I think\nhe is, he finished silently, and not the man I fear he has become.\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [192] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n TYRION\nAre you certain that you must leave us so soon?” the Lord Commander asked him.\n\n“Past certain, Lord Mormont,” Tyrion replied. “My brother Jaime will be wondering\nwhat has become of me. He may decide that you have convinced me to take the black.”\n\n“Would that I could.” Mormont picked up a crab claw and cracked it in his fist. Old as he\nwas, the Lord Commander still had the strength of a bear. “You’re a cunning man,\nTyrion. We have need of men of your sort on the Wall.”\n\nTyrion grinned. “Then I shall scour the Seven Kingdoms for dwarfs and ship them all to\nyou, Lord Mormont.” As they laughed, he sucked the meat from a crab leg and reached\nfor another. The crabs had arrived from Eastwatch only this morning, packed in a barrel\nof snow, and they were succulent.\n\nSer Alliser Thorne was the only man at table who did not so much as crack a smile.\n“Lannister mocks us.”\n\n“Only you, Ser Alliser,” Tyrion said. This time the laughter round the table had a\nnervous, uncertain quality to it.\n\nThorne’s black eyes fixed on Tyrion with loathing. “You have a bold tongue for someone\nwho is less than half a man. Perhaps you and I should visit the yard together.”\n\n“Why?” asked Tyrion. “The crabs are here.”\n\nThe remark brought more guffaws from the others. Ser Alliser stood up, his mouth a\ntight line. “Come and make your japes with steel in your hand.”\n\nTyrion looked pointedly at his right hand. “Why, I have steel in my hand, Ser Alliser,\nalthough it appears to be a crab fork. Shall we duel?” He hopped up on his chair and\nbegan poking at Thorne’s chest with the tiny fork. Roars of laughter filled the tower\nroom. Bits of crab flew from the Lord Commander’s mouth as he began to gasp and\nchoke. Even his raven joined in, cawing loudly from above the window. “Duel! Duel!\nDuel!”\n"
## [193] "Ser Alliser Thorne walked from the room so stiffly it looked as though he had a dagger\nup his butt.\n\nMormont was still gasping for breath. Tyrion pounded him on the back. “To the victor\ngoes the spoils,” he called out. “I claim Thorne’s share of the crabs.”\n\nFinally the Lord Commander recovered himself. “You are a wicked man, to provoke our\nSer Alliser so,” he scolded.\n\nTyrion seated himself and took a sip of wine. “If a man paints a target on his chest, he\nshould expect that sooner or later someone will loose an arrow at him. I have seen dead\nmen with more humor than your Ser Alliser.”\n\n“Not so,” objected the Lord Steward, Bowen Marsh, a man as round and red as a\npomegranate. “You ought to hear the droll names he gives the lads he trains.”\n\nTyrion had heard a few of those droll names. “I’ll wager the lads have a few names for\nhim as well,” he said. “Chip the ice off your eyes, my good lords. Ser Alliser Thorne\nshould be mucking out your stables, not drilling your young warriors.”\n\n“The Watch has no shortage of stableboys,” Lord Mormont grumbled. “That seems to be\nall they send us these days. Stableboys and sneak thieves and rapers. Ser Alliser is an\nanointed knight, one of the few to take the black since I have been Lord Commander. He\nfought bravely at King’s Landing.”\n\n“On the wrong side,” Ser Jaremy Rykker commented dryly. “I ought to know, I was there\non the battlements beside him. Tywin Lannister gave us a splendid choice. Take the\nblack, or see our heads on spikes before evenfall. No offense intended, Tyrion.”\n\n“None taken, Ser Jaremy. My father is very fond of spiked heads, especially those of\npeople who have annoyed him in some fashion. And a face as noble as yours, well, no\ndoubt he saw you decorating the city wall above the King’s Gate. I think you would have\nlooked very striking up there.”\n\n“Thank you,” Ser Jaremy replied with a sardonic smile.\n\nLord Commander Mormont cleared his throat. “Sometimes I fear Ser Alliser saw you\ntrue, Tyrion. You do mock us and our noble purpose here.”\n\nTyrion shrugged. “We all need to be mocked from time to time, Lord Mormont, lest we\nstart to take ourselves too seriously. More wine, please.” He held out his cup.\n"
## [194] "As Rykker filled it for him, Bowen Marsh said, “You have a great thirst for a small man.”\n\n“Oh, I think that Lord Tyrion is quite a large man,” Maester Aemon said from the far end\nof the table. He spoke softly, yet the high officers of the Night’s Watch all fell quiet, the\nbetter to hear what the ancient had to say. “I think he is a giant come among us, here at\nthe end of the world.”\n\nTyrion answered gently, “I’ve been called many things, my lord, but giant is seldom one\nof them.”\n\n“Nonetheless,” Maester Aemon said as his clouded, milk-white eyes moved to Tyrion’s\nface, “I think it is true.”\n\nFor once, Tyrion Lannister found himself at a loss for words. He could only bow his head\npolitely and say, “You are too kind, Maester Aemon.”\n\nThe blind man smiled. He was a tiny thing, wrinkled and hairless, shrunken beneath the\nweight of a hundred years so his maester’s collar with its links of many metals hung\nloose about his throat. “I have been called many things, my lord,” he said, “but kind is\nseldom one of them.” This time Tyrion himself led the laughter.\n\nMuch later, when the serious business of eating was done and the others had left,\nMormont offered Tyrion a chair beside the fire and a cup of mulled spirits so strong they\nbrought tears to his eyes. “The kingsroad can be perilous this far north,” the Lord\nCommander told him as they drank.\n\n“I have Jyck and Morrec,” Tyrion said, “and Yoren is riding south again.”\n\n“Yoren is only one man. The Watch shall escort you as far as Winterfell,” Mormont\nannounced in a tone that brooked no argument. “Three men should be sufficient.”\n\n“If you insist, my lord,” Tyrion said. “You might send young Snow. He would be glad for\na chance to see his brothers.”\n\nMormont frowned through his thick grey beard. “Snow? Oh, the Stark bastard. I think\nnot. The young ones need to forget the lives they left behind them, the brothers and\nmothers and all that. A visit home would only stir up feelings best left alone. I know\nthese things. My own blood kin . . . my sister Maege rules Bear Island now, since my\nson’s dishonor. I have nieces I have never seen.” He took a swallow. “Besides, Jon Snow\nis only a boy. You shall have three strong swords, to keep you safe.”\n"
## [195] "“I am touched by your concern, Lord Mormont.” The strong drink was making Tyrion\nlight-headed, but not so drunk that he did not realize that the Old Bear wanted\nsomething from him. “I hope I can repay your kindness.”\n\n“You can,” Mormont said bluntly. “Your sister sits beside the king. Your brother is a\ngreat knight, and your father the most powerful lord in the Seven Kingdoms. Speak to\nthem for us. Tell them of our need here. You have seen for yourself, my lord. The Night’s\nWatch is dying. Our strength is less than a thousand now. Six hundred here, two\nhundred in the Shadow Tower, even fewer at Eastwatch, and a scant third of those\nfighting men. The Wall is a hundred leagues long. Think on that. Should an attack come,\nI have three men to defend each mile of wall.”\n\n“Three and a third,” Tyrion said with a yawn.\n\nMormont scarcely seemed to hear him. The old man warmed his hands before the fire. “I\nsent Benjen Stark to search after Yohn Royce’s son, lost on his first ranging. The Royce\nboy was green as summer grass, yet he insisted on the honor of his own command,\nsaying it was his due as a knight. I did not wish to offend his lord father, so I yielded. I\nsent him out with two men I deemed as good as any in the Watch. More fool I.”\n\n“Fool,” the raven agreed. Tyrion glanced up. The bird peered down at him with those\nbeady black eyes, ruffling its wings. “Fool,” it called again. Doubtless old Mormont\nwould take it amiss if he throttled the creature. A pity.\n\nThe Lord Commander took no notice of the irritating bird. “Gared was near as old as I\nam and longer on the Wall,” he went on, “yet it would seem he forswore himself and fled.\nI should never have believed it, not of him, but Lord Eddard sent me his head from\nWinterfell. Of Royce, there is no word. One deserter and two men lost, and now Ben\nStark too has gone missing.” He sighed deeply. “Who am I to send searching after him?\nIn two years I will be seventy. Too old and too weary for the burden I bear, yet if I set it\ndown, who will pick it up? Alliser Thorne? Bowen Marsh? I would have to be as blind as\nMaester Aemon not to see what they are. The Night’s Watch has become an army of\nsullen boys and tired old men. Apart from the men at my table tonight, I have perhaps\ntwenty who can read, and even fewer who can think, or plan, or lead. Once the Watch\nspent its summers building, and each Lord Commander raised the Wall higher than he\nfound it. Now it is all we can do to stay alive.”\n\nHe was in deadly earnest, Tyrion realized. He felt faintly embarrassed for the old man.\nLord Mormont had spent a good part of his life on the Wall, and he needed to believe if\nthose years were to have any meaning. “I promise, the king will hear of your need,”\nTyrion said gravely, “and I will speak to my father and my brother Jaime as well.” And\nhe would. Tyrion Lannister was as good as his word. He left the rest unsaid; that King\n"
## [196] "Robert would ignore him, Lord Tywin would ask if he had taken leave of his senses, and\nJaime would only laugh.\n\n“You are a young man, Tyrion,” Mormont said. “How many winters have you seen?”\n\nHe shrugged. “Eight, nine. I misremember.”\n\n“And all of them short.”\n\n“As you say, my lord.” He had been born in the dead of winter, a terrible cruel one that\nthe maesters said had lasted near three years, but Tyrion’s earliest memories were of\nspring.\n\n“When I was a boy, it was said that a long summer always meant a long winter to come.\nThis summer has lasted nine years, Tyrion, and a tenth will soon be upon us. Think on\nthat.”\n\n“When I was a boy,” Tyrion replied, “my wet nurse told me that one day, if men were\ngood, the gods would give the world a summer without ending. Perhaps we’ve been\nbetter than we thought, and the Great Summer is finally at hand.” He grinned.\n\nThe Lord Commander did not seem amused. “You are not fool enough to believe that,\nmy lord. Already the days grow shorter. There can be no mistake, Aemon has had letters\nfrom the Citadel, findings in accord with his own. The end of summer stares us in the\nface.” Mormont reached out and clutched Tyrion tightly by the hand. “You must make\nthem understand. I tell you, my lord, the darkness is coming. There are wild things in\nthe woods, direwolves and mammoths and snow bears the size of aurochs, and I have\nseen darker shapes in my dreams.”\n\n“In your dreams,” Tyrion echoed, thinking how badly he needed another strong drink.\n\nMormont was deaf to the edge in his voice. “The fisherfolk near Eastwatch have\nglimpsed white walkers on the shore.”\n\nThis time Tyrion could not hold his tongue. “The fisherfolk of Lannisport often glimpse\nmerlings.”\n\n“Denys Mallister writes that the mountain people are moving south, slipping past the\nShadow Tower in numbers greater than ever before. They are running, my lord . . . but\nrunning from what?” Lord Mormont moved to the window and stared out into the night.\n“These are old bones, Lannister, but they have never felt a chill like this. Tell the king\nwhat I say, I pray you. Winter is coming, and when the Long Night falls, only the Night’s\n"
## [197] "Watch will stand between the realm and the darkness that sweeps from the north. The\ngods help us all if we are not ready.”\n\n“The gods help me if I do not get some sleep tonight. Yoren is determined to ride at first\nlight.” Tyrion got to his feet, sleepy from wine and tired of doom. “I thank you for all the\ncourtesies you have done me, Lord Mormont.”\n\n“Tell them, Tyrion. Tell them and make them believe. That is all the thanks I need.” He\nwhistled, and his raven flew to him and perched on his shoulder. Mormont smiled and\ngave the bird some corn from his pocket, and that was how Tyrion left him.\n\nIt was bitter cold outside. Bundled thickly in his furs, Tyrion Lannister pulled on his\ngloves and nodded to the poor frozen wretches standing sentry outside the\nCommander’s Keep. He set off across the yard for his own chambers in the King’s Tower,\nwalking as briskly as his legs could manage. Patches of snow crunched beneath his feet\nas his boots broke the night’s crust, and his breath steamed before him like a banner. He\nshoved his hands into his armpits and walked faster, praying that Morrec had\nremembered to warm his bed with hot bricks from the fire.\n\nBehind the King’s Tower, the Wall glimmered in the light of the moon, immense and\nmysterious. Tyrion stopped for a moment to look up at it. His legs ached of cold and\nhaste.\n\nSuddenly a strange madness took hold of him, a yearning to look once more off the end\nof the world. It would be his last chance, he thought; tomorrow he would ride south, and\nhe could not imagine why he would ever want to return to this frozen desolation. The\nKing’s Tower was before him, with its promise of warmth and a soft bed, yet Tyrion\nfound himself walking past it, toward the vast pale palisade of the Wall.\n\nA wooden stair ascended the south face, anchored on huge rough-hewn beams sunk\ndeep into the ice and frozen in place. Back and forth it switched, clawing its way upward\nas crooked as a bolt of lightning. The black brothers assured him that it was much\nstronger than it looked, but Tyrion’s legs were cramping too badly for him to even\ncontemplate the ascent. He went instead to the iron cage beside the well, clambered\ninside, and yanked hard on the bell rope, three quick pulls.\n\nHe had to wait what seemed an eternity, standing there inside the bars with the Wall to\nhis back. Long enough for Tyrion to begin to wonder why he was doing this. He had just\nabout decided to forget his sudden whim and go to bed when the cage gave a jerk and\nbegan to ascend.\n\nHe moved upward slowly, by fits and starts at first, then more smoothly. The ground fell\n"
## [198] "away beneath him, the cage swung, and Tyrion wrapped his hands around the iron bars.\nHe could feel the cold of the metal even through his gloves. Morrec had a fire burning in\nhis room, he noted with approval, but the Lord Commander’s tower was dark. The Old\nBear had more sense than he did, it seemed.\n\nThen he was above the towers, still inching his way upward. Castle Black lay below him,\netched in moonlight. You could see how stark and empty it was from up here;\nwindowless keeps, crumbling walls, courtyards choked with broken stone. Farther off, he\ncould see the lights of Mole’s Town, the little village half a league south along the\nkingsroad, and here and there the bright glitter of moonlight on water where icy streams\ndescended from the mountain heights to cut across the plains. The rest of the world was\na bleak emptiness of windswept hills and rocky fields spotted with snow.\n\nFinally a thick voice behind him said, “Seven hells, it’s the dwarf,” and the cage jerked to\na sudden stop and hung there, swinging slowly back and forth, the ropes creaking.\n\n“Bring him in, damn it.” There was a grunt and a loud groaning of wood as the cage slid\nsideways and then the Wall was beneath him. Tyrion waited until the swinging had\nstopped before he pushed open the cage door and hopped down onto the ice. A heavy\nfigure in black was leaning on the winch, while a second held the cage with a gloved\nhand. Their faces were muffled in woolen scarves so only their eyes showed, and they\nwere plump with layers of wool and leather, black on black. “And what will you be\nwanting, this time of night?” the one by the winch asked.\n\n“A last look.”\n\nThe men exchanged sour glances. “Look all you want,” the other one said. “Just have a\ncare you don’t fall off, little man. The Old Bear would have our hides.” A small wooden\nshack stood under the great crane, and Tyrion saw the dull glow of a brazier and felt a\nbrief gust of warmth when the winch men opened the door and went back inside. And\nthen he was alone.\n\nIt was bitingly cold up here, and the wind pulled at his clothes like an insistent lover. The\ntop of the Wall was wider than the kingsroad often was, so Tyrion had no fear of falling,\nalthough the footing was slicker than he would have liked. The brothers spread crushed\nstone across the walkways, but the weight of countless footsteps would melt the Wall\nbeneath, so the ice would seem to grow around the gravel, swallowing it, until the path\nwas bare again and it was time to crush more stone.\n\nStill, it was nothing that Tyrion could not manage. He looked off to the east and west, at\nthe Wall stretching before him, a vast white road with no beginning and no end and a\ndark abyss on either side. West, he decided, for no special reason, and he began to walk\n"
## [199] "that way, following the pathway nearest the north edge, where the gravel looked freshest.\n\nHis bare cheeks were ruddy with the cold, and his legs complained more loudly with\nevery step, but Tyrion ignored them. The wind swirled around him, gravel crunched\nbeneath his boots, while ahead the white ribbon followed the lines of the hills, rising\nhigher and higher, until it was lost beyond the western horizon. He passed a massive\ncatapult, as tall as a city wall, its base sunk deep into the Wall. The throwing arm had\nbeen taken off for repairs and then forgotten; it lay there like a broken toy, half-\nembedded in the ice.\n\nOn the far side of the catapult, a muffled voice called out a challenge. “Who goes there?\nHalt!”\n\nTyrion stopped. “If I halt too long I’ll freeze in place, Jon,” he said as a shaggy pale shape\nslid toward him silently and sniffed at his furs. “Hello, Ghost.”\n\nJon Snow moved closer. He looked bigger and heavier in his layers of fur and leather,\nthe hood of his cloak pulled down over his face. “Lannister,” he said, yanking loose the\nscarf to uncover his mouth. “This is the last place I would have expected to see you.” He\ncarried a heavy spear tipped in iron, taller than he was, and a sword hung at his side in a\nleather sheath. Across his chest was a gleaming black warhorn, banded with silver.\n\n“This is the last place I would have expected to be seen,” Tyrion admitted. “I was\ncaptured by a whim. If I touch Ghost, will he chew my hand off?”\n\n“Not with me here,” Jon promised.\n\nTyrion scratched the white wolf behind the ears. The red eyes watched him impassively.\nThe beast came up as high as his chest now. Another year, and Tyrion had the gloomy\nfeeling he’d be looking up at him. “What are you doing up here tonight?” he asked.\n“Besides freezing your manhood off . . . ”\n\n“I have drawn night guard,” Jon said. “Again. Ser Alliser has kindly arranged for the\nwatch commander to take a special interest in me. He seems to think that if they keep\nme awake half the night, I’ll fall asleep during morning drill. So far I have disappointed\nhim.”\n\nTyrion grinned. “And has Ghost learned to juggle yet?”\n\n“No,” said Jon, smiling, “but Grenn held his own against Halder this morning, and Pyp\nis no longer dropping his sword quite so often as he did.”\n"
## [200] "“Pyp?”\n\n“Pypar is his real name. The small boy with the large ears. He saw me working with\nGrenn and asked for help. Thorne had never even shown him the proper way to grip a\nsword.” He turned to look north. “I have a mile of Wall to guard. Will you walk with me?”\n\n“If you walk slowly,” Tyrion said.\n\n“The watch commander tells me I must walk, to keep my blood from freezing, but he\nnever said how fast.”\n\nThey walked, with Ghost pacing along beside Jon like a white shadow. “I leave on the\nmorrow,” Tyrion said.\n\n“I know.” Jon sounded strangely sad.\n\n“I plan to stop at Winterfell on the way south. If there is any message that you would like\nme to deliver . . . ”\n\n“Tell Robb that I’m going to command the Night’s Watch and keep him safe, so he might\nas well take up needlework with the girls and have Mikken melt down his sword for\nhorseshoes.”\n\n“Your brother is bigger than me,” Tyrion said with a laugh. “I decline to deliver any\nmessage that might get me killed.”\n\n“Rickon will ask when I’m coming home. Try to explain where I’ve gone, if you can. Tell\nhim he can have all my things while I’m away, he’ll like that.”\n\nPeople seemed to be asking a great deal of him today, Tyrion Lannister thought. “You\ncould put all this in a letter, you know.”\n\n“Rickon can’t read yet. Bran . . . ” He stopped suddenly. “I don’t know what message to\nsend to Bran. Help him, Tyrion.”\n\n“What help could I give him? I am no maester, to ease his pain. I have no spells to give\nhim back his legs.”\n\n“You gave me help when I needed it,” Jon Snow said.\n\n“I gave you nothing,” Tyrion said. “Words.”\n"
## [201] "“Then give your words to Bran too.”\n\n“You’re asking a lame man to teach a cripple how to dance,” Tyrion said. “However\nsincere the lesson, the result is likely to be grotesque. Still, I know what it is to love a\nbrother, Lord Snow. I will give Bran whatever small help is in my power.”\n\n“Thank you, my lord of Lannister.” He pulled off his glove and offered his bare hand.\n“Friend.”\n\nTyrion found himself oddly touched. “Most of my kin are bastards,” he said with a wry\nsmile, “but you’re the first I’ve had to friend.” He pulled a glove off with his teeth and\nclasped Snow by the hand, flesh against flesh. The boy’s grip was firm and strong.\n\nWhen he had donned his glove again, Jon Snow turned abruptly and walked to the low,\nicy northern parapet. Beyond him the Wall fell away sharply; beyond him there was only\nthe darkness and the wild. Tyrion followed him, and side by side they stood upon the\nedge of the world.\n\nThe Night’s Watch permitted the forest to come no closer than half a mile of the north\nface of the Wall. The thickets of ironwood and sentinel and oak that had once grown\nthere had been harvested centuries ago, to create a broad swath of open ground through\nwhich no enemy could hope to pass unseen. Tyrion had heard that elsewhere along the\nWall, between the three fortresses, the wildwood had come creeping back over the\ndecades, that there were places where grey-green sentinels and pale white weirwoods\nhad taken root in the shadow of the Wall itself, but Castle Black had a prodigious\nappetite for firewood, and here the forest was still kept at bay by the axes of the black\nbrothers.\n\nIt was never far, though. From up here Tyrion could see it, the dark trees looming\nbeyond the stretch of open ground, like a second wall built parallel to the first, a wall of\nnight. Few axes had ever swung in that black wood, where even the moonlight could not\npenetrate the ancient tangle of root and thorn and grasping limb. Out there the trees\ngrew huge, and the rangers said they seemed to brood and knew not men. It was small\nwonder the Night’s Watch named it the haunted forest.\n\nAs he stood there and looked at all that darkness with no fires burning anywhere, with\nthe wind blowing and the cold like a spear in his guts, Tyrion Lannister felt as though he\ncould almost believe the talk of the Others, the enemy in the night. His jokes of\ngrumkins and snarks no longer seemed quite so droll.\n\n“My uncle is out there,” Jon Snow said softly, leaning on his spear as he stared off into\nthe darkness. “The first night they sent me up here, I thought, Uncle Benjen will ride\n"
## [202] "back tonight, and I’ll see him first and blow the horn. He never came, though. Not that\nnight and not any night.”\n\n“Give him time,” Tyrion said.\n\nFar off to the north, a wolf began to howl. Another voice picked up the call, then another.\nGhost cocked his head and listened. “If he doesn’t come back,” Jon Snow promised,\n“Ghost and I will go find him.” He put his hand on the direwolf’s head.\n\n“I believe you,” Tyrion said, but what he thought was, And who will go find you? He\nshivered.\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [203] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n ARYA\nHer father had been fighting with the council again. Arya could see it on his face when\nhe came to table, late again, as he had been so often. The first course, a thick sweet soup\nmade with pumpkins, had already been taken away when Ned Stark strode into the\nSmall Hall. They called it that to set it apart from the Great Hall, where the king could\nfeast a thousand, but it was a long room with a high vaulted ceiling and bench space for\ntwo hundred at its trestle tables.\n\n“My lord,” Jory said when Father entered. He rose to his feet, and the rest of the guard\nrose with him. Each man wore a new cloak, heavy grey wool with a white satin border. A\nhand of beaten silver clutched the woolen folds of each cloak and marked their wearers\nas men of the Hand’s household guard. There were only fifty of them, so most of the\nbenches were empty.\n\n“Be seated,” Eddard Stark said. “I see you have started without me. I am pleased to know\nthere are still some men of sense in this city.” He signaled for the meal to resume. The\nservants began bringing out platters of ribs, roasted in a crust of garlic and herbs.\n\n“The talk in the yard is we shall have a tourney, my lord,” Jory said as he resumed his\nseat. “They say that knights will come from all over the realm to joust and feast in honor\nof your appointment as Hand of the King.”\n\nArya could see that her father was not very happy about that. “Do they also say this is the\nlast thing in the world I would have wished?”\n\nSansa’s eyes had grown wide as the plates. “A tourney,” she breathed. She was seated\nbetween Septa Mordane and Jeyne Poole, as far from Arya as she could get without\ndrawing a reproach from Father. “Will we be permitted to go, Father?”\n\n“You know my feelings, Sansa. It seems I must arrange Robert’s games and pretend to\nbe honored for his sake. That does not mean I must subject my daughters to this folly.”\n\n“Oh, please,” Sansa said. “I want to see.”\n\nSepta Mordane spoke up. “Princess Myrcella will be there, my lord, and her younger\nthan Lady Sansa. All the ladies of the court will be expected at a grand event like this,\n"
## [204] "and as the tourney is in your honor, it would look queer if your family did not attend.”\n\nFather looked pained. “I suppose so. Very well, I shall arrange a place for you, Sansa.”\nHe saw Arya. “For both of you.”\n\n“I don’t care about their stupid tourney,” Arya said. She knew Prince Joffrey would be\nthere, and she hated Prince Joffrey.\n\nSansa lifted her head. “It will be a splendid event. You shan’t be wanted.”\n\nAnger flashed across Father’s face. “Enough, Sansa. More of that and you will change my\nmind. I am weary unto death of this endless war you two are fighting. You are sisters. I\nexpect you to behave like sisters, is that understood?”\n\nSansa bit her lip and nodded. Arya lowered her face to stare sullenly at her plate. She\ncould feel tears stinging her eyes. She rubbed them away angrily, determined not to cry.\n\nThe only sound was the clatter of knives and forks. “Pray excuse me,” her father\nannounced to the table. “I find I have small appetite tonight.” He walked from the hall.\n\nAfter he was gone, Sansa exchanged excited whispers with Jeyne Poole. Down the table\nJory laughed at a joke, and Hullen started in about horseflesh. “Your warhorse, now, he\nmay not be the best one for the joust. Not the same thing, oh, no, not the same at all.”\nThe men had heard it all before; Desmond, Jacks, and Hullen’s son Harwin shouted him\ndown together, and Porther called for more wine.\n\nNo one talked to Arya. She didn’t care. She liked it that way. She would have eaten her\nmeals alone in her bedchamber if they let her. Sometimes they did, when Father had to\ndine with the king or some lord or the envoys from this place or that place. The rest of\nthe time, they ate in his solar, just him and her and Sansa. That was when Arya missed\nher brothers most. She wanted to tease Bran and play with baby Rickon and have Robb\nsmile at her. She wanted Jon to muss up her hair and call her “little sister” and finish her\nsentences with her. But all of them were gone. She had no one left but Sansa, and Sansa\nwouldn’t even talk to her unless Father made her.\n\nBack at Winterfell, they had eaten in the Great Hall almost half the time. Her father used\nto say that a lord needed to eat with his men, if he hoped to keep them. “Know the men\nwho follow you,” she heard him tell Robb once, “and let them know you. Don’t ask your\nmen to die for a stranger.” At Winterfell, he always had an extra seat set at his own table,\nand every day a different man would be asked to join him. One night it would be Vayon\nPoole, and the talk would be coppers and bread stores and servants. The next time it\nwould be Mikken, and her father would listen to him go on about armor and swords and\n"
## [205] "how hot a forge should be and the best way to temper steel. Another day it might be\nHullen with his endless horse talk, or Septon Chayle from the library, or Jory, or Ser\nRodrik, or even Old Nan with her stories.\n\nArya had loved nothing better than to sit at her father’s table and listen to them talk. She\nhad loved listening to the men on the benches too; to freeriders tough as leather, courtly\nknights and bold young squires, grizzled old men-at-arms. She used to throw snowballs\nat them and help them steal pies from the kitchen. Their wives gave her scones and she\ninvented names for their babies and played monsters-and-maidens and hide-the-\ntreasure and come-into-my-castle with their children. Fat Tom used to call her “Arya\nUnderfoot,” because he said that was where she always was. She’d liked that a lot better\nthan “Arya Horseface.”\n\nOnly that was Winterfell, a world away, and now everything was changed. This was the\nfirst time they had supped with the men since arriving in King’s Landing. Arya hated it.\nShe hated the sounds of their voices now, the way they laughed, the stories they told.\nThey’d been her friends, she’d felt safe around them, but now she knew that was a lie.\nThey’d let the queen kill Lady, that was horrible enough, but then the Hound found\nMycah. Jeyne Poole had told Arya that he’d cut him up in so many pieces that they’d\ngiven him back to the butcher in a bag, and at first the poor man had thought it was a pig\nthey’d slaughtered. And no one had raised a voice or drawn a blade or anything, not\nHarwin who always talked so bold, or Alyn who was going to be a knight, or Jory who\nwas captain of the guard. Not even her father.\n\n“He was my friend,” Arya whispered into her plate, so low that no one could hear. Her\nribs sat there untouched, grown cold now, a thin film of grease congealing beneath them\non the plate. Arya looked at them and felt ill. She pushed away from the table.\n\n“Pray, where do you think you are going, young lady?” Septa Mordane asked.\n\n“I’m not hungry.” Arya found it an effort to remember her courtesies. “May I be excused,\nplease?” she recited stiffly.\n\n“You may not,” the septa said. “You have scarcely touched your food. You will sit down\nand clean your plate.”\n\n“You clean it!” Before anyone could stop her, Arya bolted for the door as the men\nlaughed and Septa Mordane called loudly after her, her voice rising higher and higher.\n\nFat Tom was at his post, guarding the door to the Tower of the Hand. He blinked when\nhe saw Arya rushing toward him and heard the septa’s shouts. “Here now, little one,\nhold on,” he started to say, reaching, but Arya slid between his legs and then she was\n"
## [206] "running up the winding tower steps, her feet hammering on the stone while Fat Tom\nhuffed and puffed behind her.\n\nHer bedchamber was the only place that Arya liked in all of King’s Landing, and the\nthing she liked best about it was the door, a massive slab of dark oak with black iron\nbands. When she slammed that door and dropped the heavy crossbar, nobody could get\ninto her room, not Septa Mordane or Fat Tom or Sansa or Jory or the Hound, nobody!\nShe slammed it now.\n\nWhen the bar was down, Arya finally felt safe enough to cry.\n\nShe went to the window seat and sat there, sniffling, hating them all, and herself most of\nall. It was all her fault, everything bad that had happened. Sansa said so, and Jeyne too.\n\nFat Tom was knocking on her door. “Arya girl, what’s wrong?” he called out. “You in\nthere?”\n\n“No!” she shouted. The knocking stopped. A moment later she heard him going away.\nFat Tom was always easy to fool.\n\nArya went to the chest at the foot of her bed. She knelt, opened the lid, and began pulling\nher clothes out with both hands, grabbing handfuls of silk and satin and velvet and wool\nand tossing them on the floor. It was there at the bottom of the chest, where she’d\nhidden it. Arya lifted it out almost tenderly and drew the slender blade from its sheath.\n\nNeedle.\n\nShe thought of Mycah again and her eyes filled with tears. Her fault, her fault, her fault.\nIf she had never asked him to play at swords with her . . .\n\nThere was a pounding at her door, louder than before. “Arya Stark, you open this door\nat once, do you hear me?”\n\nArya spun around, with Needle in her hand. “You better not come in here!” she warned.\nShe slashed at the air savagely.\n\n“The Hand will hear of this!” Septa Mordane raged.\n\n“I don’t care,” Arya screamed. “Go away.”\n\n“You will rue this insolent behavior, young lady, I promise you that.” Arya listened at\n"
## [207] "the door until she heard the sound of the septa’s receding footsteps.\n\nShe went back to the window, Needle in hand, and looked down into the courtyard\nbelow. If only she could climb like Bran, she thought; she would go out the window and\ndown the tower, run away from this horrible place, away from Sansa and Septa Mordane\nand Prince Joffrey, from all of them. Steal some food from the kitchens, take Needle and\nher good boots and a warm cloak. She could find Nymeria in the wild woods below the\nTrident, and together they’d return to Winterfell, or run to Jon on the Wall. She found\nherself wishing that Jon was here with her now. Then maybe she wouldn’t feel so alone.\n\nA soft knock at the door behind her turned Arya away from the window and her dreams\nof escape. “Arya,” her father’s voice called out. “Open the door. We need to talk.”\n\nArya crossed the room and lifted the crossbar. Father was alone. He seemed more sad\nthan angry. That made Arya feel even worse. “May I come in?” Arya nodded, then\ndropped her eyes, ashamed. Father closed the door. “Whose sword is that?”\n\n“Mine.” Arya had almost forgotten Needle, in her hand.\n\n“Give it to me.”\n\nReluctantly Arya surrendered her sword, wondering if she would ever hold it again. Her\nfather turned it in the light, examining both sides of the blade. He tested the point with\nhis thumb. “A bravo’s blade,” he said. “Yet it seems to me that I know this maker’s mark.\nThis is Mikken’s work.”\n\nArya could not lie to him. She lowered her eyes.\n\nLord Eddard Stark sighed. “My nine-year-old daughter is being armed from my own\nforge, and I know nothing of it. The Hand of the King is expected to rule the Seven\nKingdoms, yet it seems I cannot even rule my own household. How is it that you come to\nown a sword, Arya? Where did you get this?”\n\nArya chewed her lip and said nothing. She would not betray Jon, not even to their father.\n\nAfter a while, Father said, “I don’t suppose it matters, truly.” He looked down gravely at\nthe sword in his hands. “This is no toy for children, least of all for a girl. What would\nSepta Mordane say if she knew you were playing with swords?”\n\n“I wasn’t playing,” Arya insisted. “I hate Septa Mordane.”\n\n“That’s enough.” Her father’s voice was curt and hard. “The septa is doing no more than\n"
## [208] "is her duty, though gods know you have made it a struggle for the poor woman. Your\nmother and I have charged her with the impossible task of making you a lady.”\n\n“I don’t want to be a lady!” Arya flared.\n\n“I ought to snap this toy across my knee here and now, and put an end to this nonsense.”\n\n“Needle wouldn’t break,” Arya said defiantly, but her voice betrayed her words.\n\n“It has a name, does it?” Her father sighed. “Ah, Arya. You have a wildness in you, child.\n‘The wolf blood,’ my father used to call it. Lyanna had a touch of it, and my brother\nBrandon more than a touch. It brought them both to an early grave.” Arya heard sadness\nin his voice; he did not often speak of his father, or of the brother and sister who had\ndied before she was born. “Lyanna might have carried a sword, if my lord father had\nallowed it. You remind me of her sometimes. You even look like her.”\n\n“Lyanna was beautiful,” Arya said, startled. Everybody said so. It was not a thing that\nwas ever said of Arya.\n\n“She was,” Eddard Stark agreed, “beautiful, and willful, and dead before her time.” He\nlifted the sword, held it out between them. “Arya, what did you think to do with\nthis . . . Needle? Who did you hope to skewer? Your sister? Septa Mordane? Do you\nknow the first thing about sword fighting?”\n\nAll she could think of was the lesson Jon had given her. “Stick them with the pointy\nend,” she blurted out.\n\nHer father snorted back laughter. “That is the essence of it, I suppose.”\n\nArya desperately wanted to explain, to make him see. “I was trying to learn, but . . . ” Her\neyes filled with tears. “I asked Mycah to practice with me.” The grief came on her all at\nonce. She turned away, shaking. “I asked him,” she cried. “It was my fault, it was me . . . ”\n\nSuddenly her father’s arms were around her. He held her gently as she turned to him\nand sobbed against his chest. “No, sweet one,” he murmured. “Grieve for your friend,\nbut never blame yourself. You did not kill the butcher’s boy. That murder lies at the\nHound’s door, him and the cruel woman he serves.”\n\n“I hate them,” Arya confided, red-faced, sniffling. “The Hound and the queen and the\nking and Prince Joffrey. I hate all of them. Joffrey lied, it wasn’t the way he said. I hate\nSansa too. She did remember, she just lied so Joffrey would like her.”\n"
## [209] "“We all lie,” her father said. “Or did you truly think I’d believe that Nymeria ran off?”\n\nArya blushed guiltily. “Jory promised not to tell.”\n\n“Jory kept his word,” her father said with a smile. “There are some things I do not need\nto be told. Even a blind man could see that wolf would never have left you willingly.”\n\n“We had to throw rocks,” she said miserably. “I told her to run, to go be free, that I didn’t\nwant her anymore. There were other wolves for her to play with, we heard them howling,\nand Jory said the woods were full of game, so she’d have deer to hunt. Only she kept\nfollowing, and finally we had to throw rocks. I hit her twice. She whined and looked at\nme and I felt so ’shamed, but it was right, wasn’t it? The queen would have killed her.”\n\n“It was right,” her father said. “And even the lie was . . . not without honor.” He’d put\nNeedle aside when he went to Arya to embrace her. Now he took the blade up again and\nwalked to the window, where he stood for a moment, looking out across the courtyard.\nWhen he turned back, his eyes were thoughtful. He seated himself on the window seat,\nNeedle across his lap. “Arya, sit down. I need to try and explain some things to you.”\n\nShe perched anxiously on the edge of her bed. “You are too young to be burdened with\nall my cares,” he told her, “but you are also a Stark of Winterfell. You know our words.”\n\n“Winter is coming,” Arya whispered.\n\n“The hard cruel times,” her father said. “We tasted them on the Trident, child, and when\nBran fell. You were born in the long summer, sweet one, you’ve never known anything\nelse, but now the winter is truly coming. Remember the sigil of our House, Arya.”\n\n“The direwolf,” she said, thinking of Nymeria. She hugged her knees against her chest,\nsuddenly afraid.\n\n“Let me tell you something about wolves, child. When the snows fall and the white winds\nblow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. Summer is the time for squabbles. In\nwinter, we must protect one another, keep each other warm, share our strengths. So if\nyou must hate, Arya, hate those who would truly do us harm. Septa Mordane is a good\nwoman, and Sansa . . . Sansa is your sister. You may be as different as the sun and the\nmoon, but the same blood flows through both your hearts. You need her, as she needs\nyou . . . and I need both of you, gods help me.”\n\nHe sounded so tired that it made Arya sad. “I don’t hate Sansa,” she told him. “Not\ntruly.” It was only half a lie.\n"
## [210] "“I do not mean to frighten you, but neither will I lie to you. We have come to a dark\ndangerous place, child. This is not Winterfell. We have enemies who mean us ill. We\ncannot fight a war among ourselves. This willfulness of yours, the running off, the angry\nwords, the disobedience . . . at home, these were only the summer games of a child. Here\nand now, with winter soon upon us, that is a different matter. It is time to begin growing\nup.”\n\n“I will,” Arya vowed. She had never loved him so much as she did in that instant. “I can\nbe strong too. I can be as strong as Robb.”\n\nHe held Needle out to her, hilt first. “Here.”\n\nShe looked at the sword with wonder in her eyes. For a moment she was afraid to touch\nit, afraid that if she reached for it it would be snatched away again, but then her father\nsaid, “Go on, it’s yours,” and she took it in her hand.\n\n“I can keep it?” she said. “For true?”\n\n“For true.” He smiled. “If I took it away, no doubt I’d find a morningstar hidden under\nyour pillow within the fortnight. Try not to stab your sister, whatever the provocation.”\n\n“I won’t. I promise.” Arya clutched Needle tightly to her chest as her father took his leave.\n\nThe next morning, as they broke their fast, she apologized to Septa Mordane and asked\nfor her pardon. The septa peered at her suspiciously, but Father nodded.\n\nThree days later, at midday, her father’s steward Vayon Poole sent Arya to the Small\nHall. The trestle tables had been dismantled and the benches shoved against the walls.\nThe hall seemed empty, until an unfamiliar voice said, “You are late, boy.” A slight man\nwith a bald head and a great beak of a nose stepped out of the shadows, holding a pair of\nslender wooden swords. “Tomorrow you will be here at midday.” He had an accent, the\nlilt of the Free Cities, Braavos perhaps, or Myr.\n\n“Who are you?” Arya asked.\n\n“I am your dancing master.” He tossed her one of the wooden blades. She grabbed for it,\nmissed, and heard it clatter to the floor. “Tomorrow you will catch it. Now pick it up.”\n\nIt was not just a stick, but a true wooden sword complete with grip and guard and\npommel. Arya picked it up and clutched it nervously with both hands, holding it out in\nfront of her. It was heavier than it looked, much heavier than Needle.\n"
## [211] "The bald man clicked his teeth together. “That is not the way, boy. This is not a\ngreatsword that is needing two hands to swing it. You will take the blade in one hand.”\n\n“It’s too heavy,” Arya said.\n\n“It is heavy as it needs to be to make you strong, and for the balancing. A hollow inside is\nfilled with lead, just so. One hand now is all that is needing.”\n\nArya took her right hand off the grip and wiped her sweaty palm on her pants. She held\nthe sword in her left hand. He seemed to approve. “The left is good. All is reversed, it will\nmake your enemies more awkward. Now you are standing wrong. Turn your body\nsideface, yes, so. You are skinny as the shaft of a spear, do you know. That is good too,\nthe target is smaller. Now the grip. Let me see.” He moved closer and peered at her\nhand, prying her fingers apart, rearranging them. “Just so, yes. Do not squeeze it so\ntight, no, the grip must be deft, delicate.”\n\n“What if I drop it?” Arya said.\n\n“The steel must be part of your arm,” the bald man told her. “Can you drop part of your\narm? No. Nine years Syrio Forel was first sword to the Sealord of Braavos, he knows\nthese things. Listen to him, boy.”\n\nIt was the third time he had called her “boy.” “I’m a girl,” Arya objected.\n\n“Boy, girl,” Syrio Forel said. “You are a sword, that is all.” He clicked his teeth together.\n“Just so, that is the grip. You are not holding a battle-axe, you are holding a—”\n\n“—needle,” Arya finished for him, fiercely.\n\n“Just so. Now we will begin the dance. Remember, child, this is not the iron dance of\nWesteros we are learning, the knight’s dance, hacking and hammering, no. This is the\nbravo’s dance, the water dance, swift and sudden. All men are made of water, do you\nknow this? When you pierce them, the water leaks out and they die.” He took a step\nbackward, raised his own wooden blade. “Now you will try to strike me.”\n\nArya tried to strike him. She tried for four hours, until every muscle in her body was sore\nand aching, while Syrio Forel clicked his teeth together and told her what to do.\n\nThe next day their real work began.\n"
## [212] "previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [213] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n DAENERYS\nThe Dothraki sea,” Ser Jorah Mormont said as he reined to a halt beside her on the top\nof the ridge. beneath them, the plain stretched out immense and empty, a vast flat\nexpanse that reached to the distant horizon and beyond. It was a sea, Dany thought.\nPast here, there were no hills, no mountains, no trees nor cities nor roads, only the\nendless grasses, the tall blades rippling like waves when the winds blew. “It’s so green,”\nshe said.\n\n“Here and now,” Ser Jorah agreed. “You ought to see it when it blooms, all dark red\nflowers from horizon to horizon, like a sea of blood. Come the dry season, and the world\nturns the color of old bronze. And this is only hranna, child. There are a hundred kinds\nof grass out there, grasses as yellow as lemon and as dark as indigo, blue grasses and\norange grasses and grasses like rainbows. Down in the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai,\nthey say there are oceans of ghost grass, taller than a man on horseback with stalks as\npale as milkglass. It murders all other grass and glows in the dark with the spirits of the\ndamned. The Dothraki claim that someday ghost grass will cover the entire world, and\nthen all life will end.”\n\nThat thought gave Dany the shivers. “I don’t want to talk about that now,” she said. “It’s\nso beautiful here, I don’t want to think about everything dying.”\n\n“As you will, Khaleesi,” Ser Jorah said respectfully.\n\nShe heard the sound of voices and turned to look behind her. She and Mormont had\noutdistanced the rest of their party, and now the others were climbing the ridge below\nthem. Her handmaid Irri and the young archers of her khas were fluid as centaurs, but\nViserys still struggled with the short stirrups and the flat saddle. Her brother was\nmiserable out here. He ought never have come. Magister Illyrio had urged him to wait in\nPentos, had offered him the hospitality of his manse, but Viserys would have none of it.\nHe would stay with Drogo until the debt had been paid, until he had the crown he had\nbeen promised. “And if he tries to cheat me, he will learn to his sorrow what it means to\nwake the dragon,” Viserys had vowed, laying a hand on his borrowed sword. Illyrio had\nblinked at that and wished him good fortune.\n\nDany realized that she did not want to listen to any of her brother’s complaints right\nnow. The day was too perfect. The sky was a deep blue, and high above them a hunting\n"
## [214] "hawk circled. The grass sea swayed and sighed with each breath of wind, the air was\nwarm on her face, and Dany felt at peace. She would not let Viserys spoil it.\n\n“Wait here,” Dany told Ser Jorah. “Tell them all to stay. Tell them I command it.”\n\nThe knight smiled. Ser Jorah was not a handsome man. He had a neck and shoulders\nlike a bull, and coarse black hair covered his arms and chest so thickly that there was\nnone left for his head. Yet his smiles gave Dany comfort. “You are learning to talk like a\nqueen, Daenerys.”\n\n“Not a queen,” said Dany. “A khaleesi.” She wheeled her horse about and galloped down\nthe ridge alone.\n\nThe descent was steep and rocky, but Dany rode fearlessly, and the joy and the danger of\nit were a song in her heart. All her life Viserys had told her she was a princess, but not\nuntil she rode her silver had Daenerys Targaryen ever felt like one.\n\nAt first it had not come easy. The khalasar had broken camp the morning after her\nwedding, moving east toward Vaes Dothrak, and by the third day Dany thought she was\ngoing to die. Saddle sores opened on her bottom, hideous and bloody. Her thighs were\nchafed raw, her hands blistered from the reins, the muscles of her legs and back so\nwracked with pain that she could scarcely sit. By the time dusk fell, her handmaids\nwould need to help her down from her mount.\n\nEven the nights brought no relief. Khal Drogo ignored her when they rode, even as he\nhad ignored her during their wedding, and spent his evenings drinking with his warriors\nand bloodriders, racing his prize horses, watching women dance and men die. Dany had\nno place in these parts of his life. She was left to sup alone, or with Ser Jorah and her\nbrother, and afterward to cry herself to sleep. Yet every night, some time before the\ndawn, Drogo would come to her tent and wake her in the dark, to ride her as relentlessly\nas he rode his stallion. He always took her from behind, Dothraki fashion, for which\nDany was grateful; that way her lord husband could not see the tears that wet her face,\nand she could use her pillow to muffle her cries of pain. When he was done, he would\nclose his eyes and begin to snore softly and Dany would lie beside him, her body bruised\nand sore, hurting too much for sleep.\n\nDay followed day, and night followed night, until Dany knew she could not endure a\nmoment longer. She would kill herself rather than go on, she decided one night . . .\n\nYet when she slept that night, she dreamt the dragon dream again. Viserys was not in it\nthis time. There was only her and the dragon. Its scales were black as night, wet and\nslick with blood. Her blood, Dany sensed. Its eyes were pools of molten magma, and\n"
## [215] "when it opened its mouth, the flame came roaring out in a hot jet. She could hear it\nsinging to her, She opened her arms to the fire, embraced it, let it swallow her whole, let\nit cleanse her and temper her and scour her clean. She could feel her flesh sear and\nblacken and slough away, could feel her blood boil and turn to steam, and yet there was\nno pain. She felt strong and new and fierce.\n\nAnd the next day, strangely, she did not seem to hurt quite so much. It was as if the gods\nhad heard her and taken pity. Even her handmaids noticed the change. “Khaleesi,”\nJhiqui said, “what is wrong? Are you sick?”\n\n“I was,” she answered, standing over the dragon’s eggs that Illyrio had given her when\nshe wed. She touched one, the largest of the three, running her hand lightly over the\nshelf. Black-and-scarlet, she thought, like the dragon in my dream. The stone felt\nstrangely warm beneath her fingers . . . or was she still dreaming? She pulled her hand\nback nervously.\n\nFrom that hour onward, each day was easier than the one before it. Her legs grew\nstronger; her blisters burst and her hands grew callused; her soft thighs toughened,\nsupple as leather.\n\nThe khal had commanded the handmaid Irri to teach Dany to ride in the Dothraki\nfashion, but it was the filly who was her real teacher. The horse seemed to know her\nmoods, as if they shared a single mind. With every passing day, Dany felt surer in her\nseat. The Dothraki were a hard and unsentimental people, and it was not their custom to\nname their animals, so Dany thought of her only as the silver. She had never loved\nanything so much.\n\nAs the riding became less an ordeal, Dany began to notice the beauties of the land\naround her. She rode at the head of the khalasar with Drogo and his bloodriders, so she\ncame to each country fresh and unspoiled. Behind them the great horde might tear the\nearth and muddy the rivers and send up clouds of choking dust, but the fields ahead of\nthem were always green and verdant.\n\nThey crossed the rolling hills of Norvos, past terraced farms and small villages where the\ntownsfolk watched anxiously from atop white stucco walls. They forded three wide\nplacid rivers and a fourth that was swift and narrow and treacherous, camped beside a\nhigh blue waterfall, skirted the tumbled ruins of a vast dead city where ghosts were said\nto moan among blackened marble columns. They raced down Valyrian roads a thousand\nyears old and straight as a Dothraki arrow. For half a moon, they rode through the\nForest of Qohor, where the leaves made a golden canopy high above them, and the\ntrunks of the trees were as wide as city gates. There were great elk in that wood, and\nspotted tigers, and lemurs with silver fur and huge purple eyes, but all fled before the\n"
## [216] "approach of the khalasar and Dany got no glimpse of them.\n\nBy then her agony was a fading memory. She still ached after a long day’s riding, yet\nsomehow the pain had a sweetness to it now, and each morning she came willingly to\nher saddle, eager to know what wonders waited for her in the lands ahead. She began to\nfind pleasure even in her nights, and if she still cried out when Drogo took her, it was not\nalways in pain.\n\nAt the bottom of the ridge, the grasses rose around her, tall and supple. Dany slowed to a\ntrot and rode out onto the plain, losing herself in the green, blessedly alone. In the\nkhalasar she was never alone. Khal Drogo came to her only after the sun went down, but\nher handmaids fed her and bathed her and slept by the door of her tent, Drogo’s\nbloodriders and the men of her khas were never far, and her brother was an unwelcome\nshadow, day and night. Dany could hear him on the top of the ridge, his voice shrill with\nanger as he shouted at Ser Jorah. She rode on, submerging herself deeper in the\nDothraki sea.\n\nThe green swallowed her up. The air was rich with the scents of earth and grass, mixed\nwith the smell of horseflesh and Dany’s sweat and the oil in her hair. Dothraki smells.\nThey seemed to belong here. Dany breathed it all in, laughing. She had a sudden urge to\nfeel the ground beneath her, to curl her toes in that thick black soil. Swinging down from\nher saddle, she let the silver graze while she pulled off her high boots.\n\nViserys came upon her as sudden as a summer storm, his horse rearing beneath him as\nhe reined up too hard. “You dare!” he screamed at her. “You give commands to me? To\nme?” He vaulted off the horse, stumbling as he landed. His face was flushed as he\nstruggled back to his feet. He grabbed her, shook her. “Have you forgotten who you are?\nLook at you. Look at you!”\n\nDany did not need to look. She was barefoot, with oiled hair, wearing Dothraki riding\nleathers and a painted vest given her as a bride gift. She looked as though she belonged\nhere. Viserys was soiled and stained in city silks and ringmail.\n\nHe was still screaming. “You do not command the dragon. Do you understand? I am the\nLord of the Seven Kingdoms, I will not hear orders from some horselord’s slut, do you\nhear me?” His hand went under her vest, his fingers digging painfully into her breast.\n“Do you hear me?”\n\nDany shoved him away, hard.\n\nViserys stared at her, his lilac eyes incredulous. She had never defied him. Never fought\nback. Rage twisted his features. He would hurt her now, and badly, she knew that.\n"
## [217] "Crack.\n\nThe whip made a sound like thunder. The coil took Viserys around the throat and\nyanked him backward. He went sprawling in the grass, stunned and choking. The\nDothraki riders hooted at him as he struggled to free himself. The one with the whip,\nyoung Jhogo, rasped a question. Dany did not understand his words, but by then Irri\nwas there, and Ser Jorah, and the rest of her khas. “Jhogo asks if you would have him\ndead, Khaleesi, “ Irri said.\n\n“No,” Dany replied. “No.”\n\nJhogo understood that. One of the others barked out a comment, and the Dothraki\nlaughed. Irri told her, “Quaro thinks you should take an ear to teach him respect.”\n\nHer brother was on his knees, his fingers digging under the leather coils, crying\nincoherently, struggling for breath. The whip was tight around his windpipe.\n\n“Tell them I do not wish him harmed,” Dany said.\n\nIrri repeated her words in Dothraki. Jhogo gave a pull on the whip, yanking Viserys\naround like a puppet on a string. He went sprawling again, freed from the leather\nembrace, a thin line of blood under his chin where the whip had cut deep.\n\n“I warned him what would happen, my lady,” Ser Jorah Mormont said. “I told him to\nstay on the ridge, as you commanded.”\n\n“I know you did,” Dany replied, watching Viserys. He lay on the ground, sucking in air\nnoisily, red-faced and sobbing. He was a pitiful thing. He had always been a pitiful thing.\nWhy had she never seen that before? There was a hollow place inside her where her fear\nhad been.\n\n“Take his horse,” Dany commanded Ser Jorah. Viserys gaped at her. He could not\nbelieve what he was hearing; nor could Dany quite believe what she was saying. Yet the\nwords came. “Let my brother walk behind us back to the khalasar.” Among the\nDothraki, the man who does not ride was no man at all, the lowest of the low, without\nhonor or pride. “Let everyone see him as he is.”\n\n“No!” Viserys screamed. He turned to Ser Jorah, pleading in the Common Tongue with\nwords the horsemen would not understand. “Hit her, Mormont. Hurt her. Your king\ncommands it. Kill these Dothraki dogs and teach her.”\n"
## [218] "The exile knight looked from Dany to her brother; she barefoot, with dirt between her\ntoes and oil in her hair, he with his silks and steel. Dany could see the decision on his\nface. “He shall walk, Khaleesi,” he said. He took her brother’s horse in hand while Dany\nremounted her silver.\n\nViserys gaped at him, and sat down in the dirt. He kept his silence, but he would not\nmove, and his eyes were full of poison as they rode away. Soon he was lost in the tall\ngrass. When they could not see him anymore, Dany grew afraid. “Will he find his way\nback?” she asked Ser Jorah as they rode.\n\n“Even a man as blind as your brother should be able to follow our trail,” he replied.\n\n“He is proud. He may be too shamed to come back.”\n\nJorah laughed. “Where else should he go? If he cannot find the khalasar, the khalasar\nwill most surely find him. It is hard to drown in the Dothraki sea, child.”\n\nDany saw the truth of that. The khalasar was like a city on the march, but it did not\nmarch blindly. Always scouts ranged far ahead of the main column, alert for any sign of\ngame or prey or enemies, while outriders guarded their flanks. They missed nothing, not\nhere, in this land, the place where they had come from. These plains were a part of\nthem . . . and of her, now.\n\n“I hit him,” she said, wonder in her voice. Now that it was over, it seemed like some\nstrange dream that she had dreamed. “Ser Jorah, do you think . . . he’ll be so angry when\nhe gets back . . . She shivered. “I woke the dragon, didn’t I?”\n\nSer Jorah snorted. “Can you wake the dead, girl? Your brother Rhaegar was the last\ndragon, and he died on the Trident. Viserys is less than the shadow of a snake.”\n\nHis blunt words startled her. It seemed as though all the things she had always believed\nwere suddenly called into question. “You . . . you swore him your sword . . . ”\n\n“That I did, girl,” Ser Jorah said. “And if your brother is the shadow of a snake, what\ndoes that make his servants?” His voice was bitter.\n\n“He is still the true king. He is . . . ”\n\nJorah pulled up his horse and looked at her. “Truth now. Would you want to see Viserys\nsit a throne?”\n\nDany thought about that. “He would not be a very good king, would he?”\n"
## [219] "“There have been worse . . . but not many.” The knight gave his heels to his mount and\nstarted off again.\n\nDany rode close beside him. “Still,” she said, “the common people are waiting for him.\nMagister Illyrio says they are sewing dragon banners and praying for Viserys to return\nfrom across the narrow sea to free them.”\n\n“The common people pray for rain, healthy children, and a summer that never ends,”\nSer Jorah told her. “It is no matter to them if the high lords play their game of thrones,\nso long as they are left in peace.” He gave a shrug. “They never are.”\n\nDany rode along quietly for a time, working his words like a puzzle box. It went against\neverything that Viserys had ever told her to think that the people could care so little\nwhether a true king or a usurper reigned over them. Yet the more she thought on Jorah’s\nwords, the more they rang of truth.\n\n“What do you pray for, Ser Jorah?” she asked him.\n\n“Home,” he said. His voice was thick with longing.\n\n“I pray for home too,” she told him, believing it.\n\nSer Jorah laughed. “Look around you then, Khaleesi.”\n\nBut it was not the plains Dany saw then. It was King’s Landing and the great Red Keep\nthat Aegon the Conqueror had built. It was Dragonstone where she had been born. In\nher mind’s eye they burned with a thousand lights, a fire blazing in every window. In her\nmind’s eye, all the doors were red.\n\n“My brother will never take back the Seven Kingdoms,” Dany said. She had known that\nfor a long time, she realized. She had known it all her life. Only she had never let herself\nsay the words, even in a whisper, but now she said them for Jorah Mormont and all the\nworld to hear.\n\nSer Jorah gave her a measuring look. “You think not.”\n\n“He could not lead an army even if my lord husband gave him one,” Dany said. “He has\nno coin and the only knight who follows him reviles him as less than a snake. The\nDothraki make mock of his weakness. He will never take us home.”\n"
## [220] "“Wise child.” The knight smiled.\n\n“I am no child,” she told him fiercely. Her heels pressed into the sides of her mount,\nrousing the silver to a gallop. Faster and faster she raced, leaving Jorah and Irri and the\nothers far behind, the warm wind in her hair and the setting sun red on her face. By the\ntime she reached the khalasar, it was dusk.\n\nThe slaves had erected her tent by the shore of a spring-fed pool. She could hear rough\nvoices from the woven grass palace on the hill. Soon there would be laughter, when the\nmen of her khas told the story of what had happened in the grasses today. By the time\nViserys came limping back among them, every man, woman, and child in the camp\nwould know him for a walker. There were no secrets in the khalasar.\n\nDany gave the silver over to the slaves for grooming and entered her tent. It was cool and\ndim beneath the silk. As she let the door flap close behind her, Dany saw a finger of\ndusty red light reach out to touch her dragon’s eggs across the tent. For an instant a\nthousand droplets of scarlet flame swam before her eyes. She blinked, and they were\ngone.\n\nStone, she told herself. They are only stone, even Illyrio said so, the dragons are all\ndead. She put her palm against the black egg, fingers spread gently across the curve of\nthe shell. The stone was warm. Almost hot. “The sun,” Dany whispered. “The sun\nwarmed them as they rode.”\n\nShe commanded her handmaids to prepare her a bath. Doreah built a fire outside the\ntent, while Irri and Jhiqui fetched the big copper tub—another bride gift—from the\npackhorses and carried water from the pool. When the bath was steaming, Irri helped\nher into it and climbed in after her.\n\n“Have you ever seen a dragon?” she asked as Irri scrubbed her back and Jhiqui sluiced\nsand from her hair. She had heard that the first dragons had come from the east, from\nthe Shadow Lands beyond Asshai and the islands of the Jade Sea. Perhaps some were\nstill living there, in realms strange and wild.\n\n“Dragons are gone, Khaleesi,” Irri said.\n\n“Dead,” agreed Jhiqui. “Long and long ago.”\n\nViserys had told her that the last Targaryen dragons had died no more than a century\nand a half ago, during the reign of Aegon III, who was called the Dragonbane. That did\nnot seem so long ago to Dany. “Everywhere?” she said, disappointed. “Even in the east?”\nMagic had died in the west when the Doom fell on Valyria and the Lands of the Long\n"
## [221] "Summer, and neither spell-forged steel nor stormsingers nor dragons could hold it back,\nbut Dany had always heard that the east was different. It was said that manticores\nprowled the islands of the Jade Sea, that basilisks infested the jungles of Yi Ti, that\nspellsingers, warlocks, and aeromancers practiced their arts openly in Asshai, while\nshadowbinders and bloodmages worked terrible sorceries in the black of night. Why\nshouldn’t there be dragons too?\n\n“No dragon,” Irri said. “Brave men kill them, for dragon terrible evil beasts. It is known.”\n\n“It is known,” agreed Jhiqui.\n\n“A trader from Qarth once told me that dragons came from the moon,” blond Doreah\nsaid as she warmed a towel over the fire. Jhiqui and Irri were of an age with Dany,\nDothraki girls taken as slaves when Drogo destroyed their father’s khalasar. Doreah was\nolder, almost twenty. Magister Illyrio had found her in a pleasure house in Lys.\n\nSilvery-wet hair tumbled across her eyes as Dany turned her head, curious. “The moon?”\n\n“He told me the moon was an egg, Khaleesi,” the Lysene girl said. “Once there were two\nmoons in the sky, but one wandered too close to the sun and cracked from the heat. A\nthousand thousand dragons poured forth, and drank the fire of the sun. That is why\ndragons breathe flame. One day the other moon will kiss the sun too, and then it will\ncrack and the dragons will return.”\n\nThe two Dothraki girls giggled and laughed. “You are foolish strawhead slave,” Irri said.\n“Moon is no egg. Moon is god, woman wife of sun. It is known.”\n\n“It is known,” Jhiqui agreed.\n\nDany’s skin was flushed and pink when she climbed from the tub. Jhiqui laid her down\nto oil her body and scrape the dirt from her pores. Afterward Irri sprinkled her with\nspiceflower and cinnamon. While Doreah brushed her hair until it shone like spun silver,\nshe thought about the moon, and eggs, and dragons.\n\nHer supper was a simple meal of fruit and cheese and fry bread, with a jug of honeyed\nwine to wash it down. “Doreah, stay and eat with me,” Dany commanded when she sent\nher other handmaids away. The Lysene girl had hair the color of honey, and eyes like the\nsummer sky.\n\nShe lowered those eyes when they were alone. “You honor me, Khaleesi,” she said, but it\nwas no honor, only service. Long after the moon had risen, they sat together, talking.\n"
## [222] "That night, when Khal Drogo came, Dany was waiting for him. He stood in the door of\nher tent and looked at her with surprise. She rose slowly and opened her sleeping silks\nand let them fall to the ground. “This night we must go outside, my lord,” she told him,\nfor the Dothraki believed that all things of importance in a man’s life must be done\nbeneath the open sky.\n\nKhal Drogo followed her out into the moonlight, the bells in his hair tinkling softly. A\nfew yards from her tent was a bed of soft grass, and it was there that Dany drew him\ndown. When he tried to turn her over, she put a hand on his chest. “No,” she said. “This\nnight I would look on your face.”\n\nThere is no privacy in the heart of the khalasar. Dany felt the eyes on her as she\nundressed him, heard the soft voices as she did the things that Doreah had told her to\ndo. It was nothing to her. Was she not khaleesi? His were the only eyes that mattered,\nand when she mounted him she saw something there that she had never seen before.\nShe rode him as fiercely as ever she had ridden her silver, and when the moment of his\npleasure came, Khal Drogo called out her name.\n\nThey were on the far side of the Dothraki sea when Jhiqui brushed the soft swell of\nDany’s stomach with her fingers and said, “Khaleesi, you are with child.”\n\n“I know,” Dany told her.\n\nIt was her fourteenth name day.\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [223] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n BRAN\nIn the yard below, Rickon ran with the wolves.\n\nBran watched from his window seat. Wherever the boy went, Grey Wind was there first,\nloping ahead to cut him off, until Rickon saw him, screamed in delight, and went pelting\noff in another direction. Shaggydog ran at his heels, spinning and snapping if the other\nwolves came too close. His fur had darkened until he was all black, and his eyes were\ngreen fire. Bran’s Summer came last. He was silver and smoke, with eyes of yellow gold\nthat saw all there was to see. Smaller than Grey Wind, and more wary. Bran thought he\nwas the smartest of the litter. He could hear his brother’s breathless laughter as Rickon\ndashed across the hard-packed earth on little baby legs.\n\nHis eyes stung. He wanted to be down there, laughing and running. Angry at the\nthought, Bran knuckled away the tears before they could fall. His eighth name day had\ncome and gone. He was almost a man grown now, too old to cry.\n\n“It was just a lie,” he said bitterly, remembering the crow from his dream. “I can’t fly. I\ncan’t even run.”\n\n“Crows are all liars,” Old Nan agreed, from the chair where she sat doing her\nneedlework. “I know a story about a crow.”\n\n“I don’t want any more stories,” Bran snapped, his voice petulant. He had liked Old Nan\nand her stories once. Before. But it was different now. They left her with him all day\nnow, to watch over him and clean him and keep him from being lonely, but she just\nmade it worse. “I hate your stupid stories.”\n\nThe old woman smiled at him toothlessly. “My stories? No, my little lord, not mine. The\nstories are, before me and after me, before you too.”\n\nShe was a very ugly old woman, Bran thought spitefully; shrunken and wrinkled, almost\nblind, too weak to climb stairs, with only a few wisps of white hair left to cover a mottled\npink scalp. No one really knew how old she was, but his father said she’d been called Old\nNan even when he was a boy. She was the oldest person in Winterfell for certain, maybe\nthe oldest person in the Seven Kingdoms. Nan had come to the castle as a wet nurse for a\nBrandon Stark whose mother had died birthing him. He had been an older brother of\n"
## [224] "Lord Rickard, Bran’s grandfather, or perhaps a younger brother, or a brother to Lord\nRickard’s father. Sometimes Old Nan told it one way and sometimes another. In all the\nstories the little boy died at three of a summer chill, but Old Nan stayed on at Winterfell\nwith her own children. She had lost both her sons to the war when King Robert won the\nthrone, and her grandson was killed on the walls of Pyke during Balon Greyjoy’s\nrebellion. Her daughters had long ago married and moved away and died. All that was\nleft of her own blood was Hodor, the simpleminded giant who worked in the stables, but\nOld Nan just lived on and on, doing her needlework and telling her stories.\n\n“I don’t care whose stories they are,” Bran told her, “I hate them.” He didn’t want stories\nand he didn’t want Old Nan. He wanted his mother and father. He wanted to go running\nwith Summer loping beside him. He wanted to climb the broken tower and feed corn to\nthe crows. He wanted to ride his pony again with his brothers. He wanted it to be the\nway it had been before.\n\n“I know a story about a boy who hated stories,” Old Nan said with her stupid little smile,\nher needles moving all the while, click click click, until Bran was ready to scream at her.\n\nIt would never be the way it had been, he knew. The crow had tricked him into flying,\nbut when he woke up he was broken and the world was changed. They had all left him,\nhis father and his mother and his sisters and even his bastard brother Jon. His father\nhad promised he would ride a real horse to King’s Landing, but they’d gone without him.\nMaester Luwin had sent a bird after Lord Eddard with a message, and another to Mother\nand a third to Jon on the Wall, but there had been no answers. “Ofttimes the birds are\nlost, child,” the maester had told him. “There’s many a mile and many a hawk between\nhere and King’s Landing, the message may not have reached them.” Yet to Bran it felt as\nif they had all died while he had slept . . . or perhaps Bran had died, and they had\nforgotten him. Jory and Ser Rodrik and Vayon Poole had gone too, and Hullen and\nHarwin and Fat Tom and a quarter of the guard.\n\nOnly Robb and baby Rickon were still here, and Robb was changed. He was Robb the\nLord now, or trying to be. He wore a real sword and never smiled. His days were spent\ndrilling the guard and practicing his swordplay, making the yard ring with the sound of\nsteel as Bran watched forlornly from his window. At night he closeted himself with\nMaester Luwin, talking or going over account books. Sometimes he would ride out with\nHallis Mollen and be gone for days at a time, visiting distant holdfasts. Whenever he was\naway more than a day, Rickon would cry and ask Bran if Robb was ever coming back.\nEven when he was home at Winterfell, Robb the Lord seemed to have more time for\nHallis Mollen and Theon Greyjoy than he ever did for his brothers.\n\n“I could tell you the story about Brandon the Builder,” Old Nan said. “That was always\nyour favorite.”\n"
## [225] "Thousands and thousands of years ago, Brandon the Builder had raised Winterfell, and\nsome said the Wall. Bran knew the story, but it had never been his favorite. Maybe one\nof the other Brandons had liked that story. Sometimes Nan would talk to him as if he\nwere her Brandon, the baby she had nursed all those years ago, and sometimes she\nconfused him with his uncle Brandon, who was killed by the Mad King before Bran was\neven born. She had lived so long, Mother had told him once, that all the Brandon Starks\nhad become one person in her head.\n\n“That’s not my favorite,” he said. “My favorites were the scary ones.” He heard some sort\nof commotion outside and turned back to the window. Rickon was running across the\nyard toward the gatehouse, the wolves following him, but the tower faced the wrong way\nfor Bran to see what was happening. He smashed a fist on his thigh in frustration and\nfelt nothing.\n\n“Oh, my sweet summer child,” Old Nan said quietly, “what do you know of fear? Fear is\nfor the winter, my little lord, when the snows fall a hundred feet deep and the ice wind\ncomes howling out of the north. Fear is for the long night, when the sun hides its face for\nyears at a time, and little children are born and live and die all in darkness while the\ndirewolves grow gaunt and hungry, and the white walkers move through the woods.”\n\n“You mean the Others,” Bran said querulously.\n\n“The Others,” Old Nan agreed. “Thousands and thousands of years ago, a winter fell that\nwas cold and hard and endless beyond all memory of man. There came a night that\nlasted a generation, and kings shivered and died in their castles even as the swineherds\nin their hovels. Women smothered their children rather than see them starve, and cried,\nand felt their tears freeze on their cheeks.” Her voice and her needles fell silent, and she\nglanced up at Bran with pale, filmy eyes and asked, “So, child. This is the sort of story\nyou like?”\n\n“Well,” Bran said reluctantly, “yes, only . . . ”\n\nOld Nan nodded. “In that darkness, the Others came for the first time,” she said as her\nneedles went click click click. “They were cold things, dead things, that hated iron and\nfire and the touch of the sun, and every creature with hot blood in its veins. They swept\nover holdfasts and cities and kingdoms, felled heroes and armies by the score, riding\ntheir pale dead horses and leading hosts of the slain. All the swords of men could not\nstay their advance, and even maidens and suckling babes found no pity in them. They\nhunted the maids through frozen forests, and fed their dead servants on the flesh of\nhuman children.”\n\nHer voice had dropped very low, almost to a whisper, and Bran found himself leaning\n"
## [226] "forward to listen.\n\n“Now these were the days before the Andals came, and long before the women fled\nacross the narrow sea from the cities of the Rhoyne, and the hundred kingdoms of those\ntimes were the kingdoms of the First Men, who had taken these lands from the children\nof the forest. Yet here and there in the fastness of the woods the children still lived in\ntheir wooden cities and hollow hills, and the faces in the trees kept watch. So as cold and\ndeath filled the earth, the last hero determined to seek out the children, in the hopes that\ntheir ancient magics could win back what the armies of men had lost. He set out into the\ndead lands with a sword, a horse, a dog, and a dozen companions. For years he searched,\nuntil he despaired of ever finding the children of the forest in their secret cities. One by\none his friends died, and his horse, and finally even his dog, and his sword froze so hard\nthe blade snapped when he tried to use it. And the Others smelled the hot blood in him,\nand came silent on his trail, stalking him with packs of pale white spiders big as hounds\n—”\n\nThe door opened with a bang, and Bran’s heart leapt up into his mouth in sudden fear,\nbut it was only Maester Luwin, with Hodor looming in the stairway behind him.\n“Hodor!” the stableboy announced, as was his custom, smiling hugely at them all.\n\nMaester Luwin was not smiling. “We have visitors,” he announced, “and your presence is\nrequired, Bran.”\n\n“I’m listening to a story now,” Bran complained.\n\n“Stories wait, my little lord, and when you come back to them, why, there they are,” Old\nNan said. “Visitors are not so patient, and ofttimes they bring stories of their own.”\n\n“Who is it?” Bran asked Maester Luwin.\n\n“Tyrion Lannister, and some men of the Night’s Watch, with word from your brother\nJon. Robb is meeting with them now. Hodor, will you help Bran down to the hall?”\n\n“Hodor!” Hodor agreed happily. He ducked to get his great shaggy head under the door.\nHodor was nearly seven feet tall. It was hard to believe that he was the same blood as\nOld Nan. Bran wondered if he would shrivel up as small as his great-grandmother when\nhe was old. It did not seem likely, even if Hodor lived to be a thousand.\n\nHodor lifted Bran as easy as if he were a bale of hay, and cradled him against his massive\nchest. He always smelled faintly of horses, but it was not a bad smell. His arms were\nthick with muscle and matted with brown hair. “Hodor,” he said again. Theon Greyjoy\nhad once commented that Hodor did not know much, but no one could doubt that he\n"
## [227] "knew his name. Old Nan had cackled like a hen when Bran told her that, and confessed\nthat Hodor’s real name was Walder. No one knew where “Hodor” had come from, she\nsaid, but when he started saying it, they started calling him by it. It was the only word he\nhad.\n\nThey left Old Nan in the tower room with her needles and her memories. Hodor\nhummed tunelessly as he carried Bran down the steps and through the gallery, with\nMaester Luwin following behind, hurrying to keep up with the stableboy’s long strides.\n\nRobb was seated in Father’s high seat, wearing ringmail and boiled leather and the stern\nface of Robb the Lord. Theon Greyjoy and Hallis Mollen stood behind him. A dozen\nguardsmen lined the grey stone walls beneath tall narrow windows. In the center of the\nroom the dwarf stood with his servants, and four strangers in the black of the Night’s\nWatch. Bran could sense the anger in the hall the moment that Hodor carried him\nthrough the doors.\n\n“Any man of the Night’s Watch is welcome here at Winterfell for as long as he wishes to\nstay,” Robb was saying with the voice of Robb the Lord. His sword was across his knees,\nthe steel bare for all the world to see. Even Bran knew what it meant to greet a guest with\nan unsheathed sword.\n\n“Any man of the Night’s Watch,” the dwarf repeated, “but not me, do I take your\nmeaning, boy?”\n\nRobb stood and pointed at the little man with his sword. “I am the lord here while my\nmother and father are away, Lannister. I am not your boy.”\n\n“If you are a lord, you might learn a lord’s courtesy,” the little man replied, ignoring the\nsword point in his face. “Your bastard brother has all your father’s graces, it would\nseem.”\n\n“Jon,” Bran gasped out from Hodor’s arms.\n\nThe dwarf turned to look at him. “So it is true, the boy lives. I could scarce believe it. You\nStarks are hard to kill.”\n\n“You Lannisters had best remember that,” Robb said, lowering his sword. “Hodor, bring\nmy brother here.”\n\n“Hodor,” Hodor said, and he trotted forward smiling and set Bran in the high seat of the\nStarks, where the Lords of Winterfell had sat since the days when they called themselves\nthe Kings in the North. The seat was cold stone, polished smooth by countless bottoms;\n"
## [228] "the carved heads of direwolves snarled on the ends of its massive arms. Bran clasped\nthem as he sat, his useless legs dangling. The great seat made him feel half a baby.\n\nRobb put a hand on his shoulder. “You said you had business with Bran. Well, here he is,\nLannister.”\n\nBran was uncomfortably aware of Tyrion Lannister’s eyes. One was black and one was\ngreen, and both were looking at him, studying him, weighing him. “I am told you were\nquite the climber, Bran,” the little man said at last. “Tell me, how is it you happened to\nfall that day?”\n\n“I never,” Bran insisted. He never fell, never never never.\n\n“The child does not remember anything of the fall, or the climb that came before it,” said\nMaester Luwin gently.\n\n“Curious,” said Tyrion Lannister.\n\n“My brother is not here to answer questions, Lannister,” Robb said curtly. “Do your\nbusiness and be on your way.”\n\n“I have a gift for you,” the dwarf said to Bran. “Do you like to ride, boy?”\n\nMaester Luwin came forward. “My lord, the child has lost the use of his legs. He cannot\nsit a horse.”\n\n“Nonsense,” said Lannister. “With the right horse and the right saddle, even a cripple\ncan ride.”\n\nThe word was a knife through Bran’s heart. He felt tears come unbidden to his eyes. “I’m\nnot a cripple!”\n\n“Then I am not a dwarf,” the dwarf said with a twist of his mouth. “My father will rejoice\nto hear it.” Greyjoy laughed.\n\n“What sort of horse and saddle are you suggesting?” Maester Luwin asked.\n\n“A smart horse,” Lannister replied. “The boy cannot use his legs to command the animal,\nso you must shape the horse to the rider, teach it to respond to the reins, to the voice. I\nwould begin with an unbroken yearling, with no old training to be unlearned.” He drew a\nrolled paper from his belt. “Give this to your saddler. He will provide the rest.”\n"
## [229] "Maester Luwin took the paper from the dwarfs hand, curious as a small grey squirrel. He\nunrolled it, studied it. “I see. You draw nicely, my lord. Yes, this ought to work. I should\nhave thought of this myself.”\n\n“It came easier to me, Maester. It is not terribly unlike my own saddles.”\n\n“Will I truly be able to ride?” Bran asked. He wanted to believe them, but he was afraid.\nPerhaps it was just another lie. The crow had promised him that he could fly.\n\n“You will,” the dwarf told him. “And I swear to you, boy, on horseback you will be as tall\nas any of them.”\n\nRobb Stark seemed puzzled. “Is this some trap, Lannister? What’s Bran to you? Why\nshould you want to help him?”\n\n“Your brother Jon asked it of me. And I have a tender spot in my heart for cripples and\nbastards and broken things.” Tyrion Lannister placed a hand over his heart and grinned.\n\nThe door to the yard flew open. Sunlight came streaming across the hall as Rickon burst\nin, breathless. The direwolves were with him. The boy stopped by the door, wide-eyed,\nbut the wolves came on. Their eyes found Lannister, or perhaps they caught his scent.\nSummer began to growl first. Grey Wind picked it up. They padded toward the little\nman, one from the right and one from the left.\n\n“The wolves do not like your smell, Lannister,” Theon Greyioy commented.\n\n“Perhaps it’s time I took my leave,” Tyrion said. He took a step backward . . . and\nShaggydog came out of the shadows behind him, snarling. Lannister recoiled, and\nSummer lunged at him from the other side. He reeled away, unsteady on his feet, and\nGrey Wind snapped at his arm, teeth ripping at his sleeve and tearing loose a scrap of\ncloth.\n\n“No!” Bran shouted from the high seat as Lannister’s men reached for their steel.\n“Summer, here. Summer, to me!”\n\nThe direwolf heard the voice, glanced at Bran, and again at Lannister. He crept\nbackward, away from the little man, and settled down below Bran’s dangling feet.\n\nRobb had been holding his breath. He let it out with a sigh and called, “Grey Wind.” His\ndirewolf moved to him, swift and silent. Now there was only Shaggydog, rumbling at the\nsmall man, his eyes burning like green fire.\n"
## [230] "“Rickon, call him,” Bran shouted to his baby brother, and Rickon remembered himself\nand screamed, “Home, Shaggy, home now.” The black wolf gave Lannister one final\nsnarl and bounded off to Rickon, who hugged him tightly around the neck.\n\nTyrion Lannister undid his scarf, mopped at his brow, and said in a flat voice, “How\ninteresting.”\n\n“Are you well, my lord?” asked one of his men, his sword in hand. He glanced nervously\nat the direwolves as he spoke.\n\n“My sleeve is torn and my breeches are unaccountably damp, but nothing was harmed\nsave my dignity.”\n\nEven Robb looked shaken. “The wolves . . . I don’t know why they did that . . . ”\n\n“No doubt they mistook me for dinner.” Lannister bowed stiffly to Bran. “I thank you for\ncalling them off, young ser. I promise you, they would have found me quite indigestible.\nAnd now I will be leaving, truly.”\n\n“A moment, my lord,” Maester Luwin said. He moved to Robb and they huddled close\ntogether, whispering. Bran tried to hear what they were saying, but their voices were too\nlow.\n\nRobb Stark finally sheathed his sword. “I . . . I may have been hasty with you,” he said.\n“You’ve done Bran a kindness, and, well . . . ” Robb composed himself with an effort.\n“The hospitality of Winterfell is yours if you wish it, Lannister.”\n\n“Spare me your false courtesies, boy. You do not love me and you do not want me here. I\nsaw an inn outside your walls, in the winter town. I’ll find a bed there, and both of us will\nsleep easier. For a few coppers I may even find a comely wench to warm the sheets for\nme.” He spoke to one of the black brothers, an old man with a twisted back and a tangled\nbeard. “Yoren, we go south at daybreak. You will find me on the road, no doubt.” With\nthat he made his exit, struggling across the hall on his short legs, past Rickon and out\nthe door. His men followed.\n\nThe four of the Night’s Watch remained. Robb turned to them uncertainly. “I have had\nrooms prepared, and you’ll find no lack of hot water to wash off the dust of the road. I\nhope you will honor us at table tonight.” He spoke the words so awkwardly that even\nBran took note; it was a speech he had learned, not words from the heart, but the black\nbrothers thanked him all the same.\n"
## [231] "Summer followed them up the tower steps as Hodor carried Bran back to his bed. Old\nNan was asleep in her chair. Hodor said “Hodor,” gathered up his great-grandmother,\nand carried her off, snoring softly, while Bran lay thinking. Robb had promised that he\ncould feast with the Night’s Watch in the Great Hall. “Summer,” he called. The wolf\nbounded up on the bed. Bran hugged him so hard he could feel the hot breath on his\ncheek. “I can ride now,” he whispered to his friend. “We can go hunting in the woods\nsoon, wait and see.” After a time he slept.\n\nIn his dream he was climbing again, pulling himself up an ancient windowless tower, his\nfingers forcing themselves between blackened stones, his feet scrabbling for purchase.\nHigher and higher he climbed, through the clouds and into the night sky, and still the\ntower rose before him. When he paused to look down, his head swam dizzily and he felt\nhis fingers slipping. Bran cried out and clung for dear life. The earth was a thousand\nmiles beneath him and he could not fly. He could not fly. He waited until his heart had\nstopped pounding, until he could breathe, and he began to climb again. There was no\nway to go but up. Far above him, outlined against a vast pale moon, he thought he could\nsee the shapes of gargoyles. His arms were sore and aching, but he dared not rest. He\nforced himself to climb faster. The gargoyles watched him ascend. Their eyes glowed red\nas hot coals in a brazier. Perhaps once they had been lions, but now they were twisted\nand grotesque. Bran could hear them whispering to each other in soft stone voices\nterrible to hear. He must not listen, he told himself, he must not hear, so long as he did\nnot hear them he was safe. But when the gargoyles pulled themselves loose from the\nstone and padded down the side of the tower to where Bran clung, he knew he was not\nsafe after all. “I didn’t hear,” he wept as they came closer and closer, “I didn’t, I didn’t.”\n\nHe woke gasping, lost in darkness, and saw a vast shadow looming over him. “I didn’t\nhear,” he whispered, trembling in fear, but then the shadow said “Hodor,” and lit the\ncandle by the bedside, and Bran sighed with relief.\n\nHodor washed the sweat from him with a warm, damp cloth and dressed him with deft\nand gentle hands. When it was time, he carried him down to the Great Hall, where a long\ntrestle table had been set up near the fire. The lord’s seat at the head of the table had\nbeen left empty, but Robb sat to the right of it, with Bran across from him. They ate\nsuckling pig that night, and pigeon pie, and turnips soaking in butter, and afterward the\ncook had promised honeycombs. Summer snatched table scraps from Bran’s hand, while\nGrey Wind and Shaggydog fought over a bone in the corner. Winterfell’s dogs would not\ncome near the hall now. Bran had found that strange at first, but he was growing used to\nit.\n\nYoren was senior among the black brothers, so the steward had seated him between\nRobb and Maester Luwin. The old man had a sour smell, as if he had not washed in a\nlong time. He ripped at the meat with his teeth, cracked the ribs to suck out the marrow\nfrom the bones, and shrugged at the mention of Jon Snow. “Ser Alliser’s bane,” he\n"
## [232] "grunted, and two of his companions shared a laugh that Bran did not understand. But\nwhen Robb asked for news of their uncle Benjen, the black brothers grew ominously\nquiet.\n\n“What is it?” Bran asked.\n\nYoren wiped his fingers on his vest. “There’s hard news, m’lords, and a cruel way to pay\nyou for your meat and mead, but the man as asks the question must bear the answer.\nStark’s gone.”\n\nOne of the other men said, “The Old Bear sent him out to look for Waymar Royce, and\nhe’s late returning, my lord.”\n\n“Too long,” Yoren said. “Most like he’s dead.”\n\n“My uncle is not dead,” Robb Stark said loudly, anger in his tones. He rose from the\nbench and laid his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Do you hear me? My uncle is not\ndead!” His voice rang against the stone walls, and Bran was suddenly afraid.\n\nOld sour-smelling Yoren looked up at Robb, unimpressed. “Whatever you say, m’lord,”\nhe said. He sucked at a piece of meat between his teeth.\n\nThe youngest of the black brothers shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “There’s not a man\non the Wall knows the haunted forest better than Benjen Stark. He’ll find his way back.”\n\n“Well,” said Yoren, “maybe he will and maybe he won’t. Good men have gone into those\nwoods before, and never come out.”\n\nAll Bran could think of was Old Nan’s story of the Others and the last hero, hounded\nthrough the white woods by dead men and spiders big as hounds. He was afraid for a\nmoment, until he remembered how that story ended. “The children will help him,” he\nblurted, “the children of the forest!”\n\nTheon Greyjoy sniggered, and Maester Luwin said, “Bran, the children of the forest have\nbeen dead and gone for thousands of years. All that is left of them are the faces in the\ntrees.”\n\n“Down here, might be that’s true, Maester,” Yoren said, “but up past the Wall, who’s to\nsay? Up there, a man can’t always tell what’s alive and what’s dead.”\n\nThat night, after the plates had been cleared, Robb carried Bran up to bed himself. Grey\n"
## [233] "Wind led the way, and Summer came close behind. His brother was strong for his age,\nand Bran was as light as a bundle of rags, but the stairs were steep and dark, and Robb\nwas breathing hard by the time they reached the top.\n\nHe put Bran into bed, covered him with blankets, and blew out the candle. For a time\nRobb sat beside him in the dark. Bran wanted to talk to him, but he did not know what\nto say. “We’ll find a horse for you, I promise,” Robb whispered at last.\n\n“Are they ever coming back?” Bran asked him.\n\n“Yes,” Robb said with such hope in his voice that Bran knew he was hearing his brother\nand not just Robb the Lord. “Mother will be home soon. Maybe we can ride out to meet\nher when she comes. Wouldn’t that surprise her, to see you ahorse?” Even in the dark\nroom, Bran could feel his brother’s smile. “And afterward, we’ll ride north to see the\nWall. We won’t even tell Jon we’re coming, we’ll just be there one day, you and me. It\nwill be an adventure.”\n\n“An adventure,” Bran repeated wistfully. He heard his brother sob. The room was so\ndark he could not see the tears on Robb’s face, so he reached out and found his hand.\nTheir fingers twined together.\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [234] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n EDDARD\nLord Arryn’s death was a great sadness for all of us, my lord,” Grand Maester Pycelle\nsaid. “I would be more than happy to tell you what I can of the manner of his passing. Do\nbe seated. Would you care for refreshments? Some dates, perhaps? I have some very fine\npersimmons as well. Wine no longer agrees with my digestion, I fear, but I can offer you\na cup of iced milk, sweetened with honey. I find it most refreshing in this heat.”\n\nThere was no denying the heat; Ned could feel the silk tunic clinging to his chest. Thick,\nmoist air covered the city like a damp woolen blanket, and the riverside had grown\nunruly as the poor fled their hot, airless warrens to jostle for sleeping places near the\nwater, where the only breath of wind was to be found. “That would be most kind,” Ned\nsaid, seating himself.\n\nPycelle lifted a tiny silver bell with thumb and forefinger and tinkled it gently. A slender\nyoung serving girl hurried into the solar. “Iced milk for the King’s Hand and myself, if\nyou would be so kind, child. Well sweetened.”\n\nAs the girl went to fetch their drinks, the Grand Maester knotted his fingers together and\nrested his hands on his stomach. “The smallfolk say that the last year of summer is\nalways the hottest. It is not so, yet ofttimes it feels that way, does it not? On days like\nthis, I envy you northerners your summer snows.” The heavy jeweled chain around the\nold man’s neck chinked softly as he shifted in his seat. “To be sure, King Maekar’s\nsummer was hotter than this one, and near as long. There were fools, even in the Citadel,\nwho took that to mean that the Great Summer had come at last, the summer that never\nends, but in the seventh year it broke suddenly, and we had a short autumn and a\nterrible long winter. Still, the heat was fierce while it lasted. Oldtown steamed and\nsweltered by day and came alive only by night. We would walk in the gardens by the\nriver and argue about the gods. I remember the smells of those nights, my lord—perfume\nand sweat, melons ripe to bursting, peaches and pomegranates, nightshade and\nmoonbloom. I was a young man then, still forging my chain. The heat did not exhaust\nme as it does now.” Pycelle’s eyes were so heavily lidded he looked half-asleep. “My\npardons, Lord Eddard. You did not come to hear foolish meanderings of a summer\nforgotten before your father was born. Forgive an old man his wanderings, if you would.\nMinds are like swords, I do fear. The old ones go to rust. Ah, and here is our milk.” The\nserving girl placed the tray between them, and Pycelle gave her a smile. “Sweet child.”\nHe lifted a cup, tasted, nodded. “Thank you. You may go.”\n"
## [235] "When the girl had taken her leave, Pycelle peered at Ned through pale, rheumy eyes.\n“Now where were we? Oh, yes. You asked about Lord Arryn . . . ”\n\n“I did.” Ned sipped politely at the iced milk. It was pleasantly cold, but oversweet to his\ntaste.\n\n“If truth be told, the Hand had not seemed quite himself for some time,” Pycelle said.\n“We had sat together on council many a year, he and I, and the signs were there to read,\nbut I put them down to the great burdens he had borne so faithfully for so long. Those\nbroad shoulders were weighed down by all the cares of the realm, and more besides. His\nson was ever sickly, and his lady wife so anxious that she would scarcely let the boy out\nof her sight. It was enough to weary even a strong man, and the Lord Jon was not young.\nSmall wonder if he seemed melancholy and tired. Or so I thought at the time. Yet now I\nam less certain.” He gave a ponderous shake of his head.\n\n“What can you tell me of his final illness?”\n\nThe Grand Maester spread his hands in a gesture of helpless sorrow. “He came to me\none day asking after a certain book, as hale and healthy as ever, though it did seem to me\nthat something was troubling him deeply. The next morning he was twisted over in pain,\ntoo sick to rise from bed. Maester Colemon thought it was a chill on the stomach. The\nweather had been hot, and the Hand often iced his wine, which can upset the digestion.\nWhen Lord Jon continued to weaken, I went to him myself, but the gods did not grant\nme the power to save him.”\n\n“I have heard that you sent Maester Colemon away.”\n\nThe Grand Maester’s nod was as slow and deliberate as a glacier. “I did, and I fear the\nLady Lysa will never forgive me that. Maybe I was wrong, but at the time I thought it\nbest. Maester Colemon is like a son to me, and I yield to none in my esteem for his\nabilities, but he is young, and the young ofttimes do not comprehend the frailty of an\nolder body. He was purging Lord Arryn with wasting potions and pepper juice, and I\nfeared he might kill him.”\n\n“Did Lord Arryn say anything to you during his final hours?”\n\nPycelle wrinkled his brow. “In the last stage of his fever, the Hand called out the name\nRobert several times, but whether he was asking for his son or for the king I could not\nsay. Lady Lysa would not permit the boy to enter the sickroom, for fear that he too might\nbe taken ill. The king did come, and he sat beside the bed for hours, talking and joking of\ntimes long past in hopes of raising Lord Jon’s spirits. His love was fierce to see.”\n"
## [236] "“Was there nothing else? No final words?”\n\n“When I saw that all hope had fled, I gave the Hand the milk of the poppy, so he should\nnot suffer. Just before he closed his eyes for the last time, he whispered something to the\nking and his lady wife, a blessing for his son. The seed is strong, he said. At the end, his\nspeech was too slurred to comprehend. Death did not come until the next morning, but\nLord Jon was at peace after that. He never spoke again.”\n\nNed took another swallow of milk, trying not to gag on the sweetness of it. “Did it seem\nto you that there was anything unnatural about Lord Arryn’s death?”\n\n“Unnatural?” The aged maester’s voice was thin as a whisper. “No, I could not say so.\nSad, for a certainty. Yet in its own way, death is the most natural thing of all, Lord\nEddard. Jon Arryn rests easy now, his burdens lifted at last.”\n\n“This illness that took him,” said Ned. “Had you ever seen its like before, in other men?”\n\n“Near forty years I have been Grand Maester of the Seven Kingdoms,” Pycelle replied.\n“Under our good King Robert, and Aerys Targaryen before him, and his father Jaehaerys\nthe Second before him, and even for a few short months under Jaehaerys’s father, Aegon\nthe Fortunate, the Fifth of His Name. I have seen more of illness than I care to\nremember, my lord. I will tell you this: Every case is different, and every case is alike.\nLord Jon’s death was no stranger than any other.”\n\n“His wife thought otherwise.”\n\nThe Grand Maester nodded. “I recall now, the widow is sister to your own noble wife. If\nan old man may be forgiven his blunt speech, let me say that grief can derange even the\nstrongest and most disciplined of minds, and the Lady Lysa was never that. Since her\nlast stillbirth, she has seen enemies in every shadow, and the death of her lord husband\nleft her shattered and lost.”\n\n“So you are quite certain that Jon Arryn died of a sudden illness?”\n\n“I am,” Pycelle replied gravely. “If not illness, my good lord, what else could it be?”\n\n“Poison,” Ned suggested quietly.\n\nPycelle’s sleepy eyes flicked open. The aged maester shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “A\ndisturbing thought. We are not the Free Cities, where such things are common. Grand\nMaester Aethelmure wrote that all men carry murder in their hearts, yet even so, the\npoisoner is beneath contempt.” He fell silent for a moment, his eyes lost in thought.\n"
## [237] "“What you suggest is possible, my lord, yet I do not think it likely. Every hedge maester\nknows the common poisons, and Lord Arryn displayed none of the signs. And the Hand\nwas loved by all. What sort of monster in man’s flesh would dare to murder such a noble\nlord?”\n\n“I have heard it said that poison is a woman’s weapon.”\n\nPycelle stroked his beard thoughtfully. “It is said. Women, cravens . . . and eunuchs.” He\ncleared his throat and spat a thick glob of phelm onto the rushes. Above them, a raven\ncawed loudly in the rookery. “The Lord Varys was born a slave in Lys, did you know? Put\nnot your trust in spiders, my lord.”\n\nThat was scarcely anything Ned needed to be told; there was something about Varys that\nmade his flesh crawl. “I will remember that, Maester. And I thank you for your help. I\nhave taken enough of your time.” He stood.\n\nGrand Maester Pycelle pushed himself up from his chair slowly and escorted Ned to the\ndoor. “I hope I have helped in some small way to put your mind at ease. If there is any\nother service I might perform, you need only ask.”\n\n“One thing,” Ned told him. “I should be curious to examine the book that you lent Jon\nthe day before he fell ill.”\n\n“I fear you would find it of little interest,” Pycelle said. “It was a ponderous tome by\nGrand Maester Malleon on the lineages of the great houses.”\n\n“Still, I should like to see it.”\n\nThe old man opened the door. “As you wish. I have it here somewhere. When I find it, I\nshall have it sent to your chambers straightaway.”\n\n“You have been most courteous,” Ned told him. Then, almost as an afterthought, he said,\n“One last question, if you would be so kind. You mentioned that the king was at Lord\nArryn’s bedside when he died. I wonder, was the queen with him?”\n\n“Why, no,” Pycelle said. “She and the children were making the journey to Casterly Rock,\nin company with her father. Lord Tywin had brought a retinue to the city for the tourney\non Prince Joffrey’s name day, no doubt hoping to see his son Jaime win the champion’s\ncrown. In that he was sadly disappointed. It fell to me to send the queen word of Lord\nArryn’s sudden death. Never have I sent off a bird with a heavier heart.”\n\n“Dark wings, dark words,” Ned murmured. It was a proverb Old Nan had taught him as\n"
## [238] "a boy.\n\n“So the fishwives say,” Grand Maester Pycelle agreed, “but we know it is not always so.\nWhen Maester Luwin’s bird brought the word about your Bran, the message lifted every\ntrue heart in the castle, did it not?”\n\n“As you say, Maester.”\n\n“The gods are merciful.” Pycelle bowed his head. “Come to me as often as you like, Lord\nEddard. I am here to serve.”\n\nYes, Ned thought as the door swung shut, but whom?\n\nOn the way back to his chambers, he came upon his daughter Arya on the winding steps\nof the Tower of the Hand, windmilling her arms as she struggled to balance on one leg.\nThe rough stone had scuffed her bare feet. Ned stopped and looked at her. “Arya, what\nare you doing?”\n\n“Syrio says a water dancer can stand on one toe for hours.” Her hands flailed at the air to\nsteady herself.\n\nNed had to smile. “Which toe?” he teased.\n\n“Any toe,” Arya said, exasperated with the question. She hopped from her right leg to\nher left, swaying dangerously before she regained her balance.\n\n“Must you do your standing here?” he asked. “It’s a long hard fall down these steps.”\n\n“Syrio says a water dancer never falls.” She lowered her leg to stand on two feet. “Father,\nwill Bran come and live with us now?”\n\n“Not for a long time, sweet one,” he told her. “He needs to win his strength back.”\n\nArya bit her lip. “What will Bran do when he’s of age?”\n\nNed knelt beside her. “He has years to find that answer, Arya. For now, it is enough to\nknow that he will live.” The night the bird had come from Winterfell, Eddard Stark had\ntaken the girls to the castle godswood, an acre of elm and alder and black cottonwood\noverlooking the river. The heart tree there was a great oak, its ancient limbs overgrown\nwith smokeberry vines; they knelt before it to offer their thanksgiving, as if it had been a\nweirwood. Sansa drifted to sleep as the moon rose, Arya several hours later, curling up\n"
## [239] "in the grass under Ned’s cloak. All through the dark hours he kept his vigil alone. When\ndawn broke over the city, the dark red blooms of dragon’s breath surrounded the girls\nwhere they lay. “I dreamed of Bran,” Sansa had whispered to him. “I saw him smiling.”\n\n“He was going to be a knight,” Arya was saying now. “A knight of the Kingsguard. Can he\nstill be a knight?”\n\n“No,” Ned said. He saw no use in lying to her. “Yet someday he may be the lord of a great\nholdfast and sit on the king’s council. He might raise castles like Brandon the Builder, or\nsail a ship across the Sunset Sea, or enter your mother’s Faith and become the High\nSepton.” But he will never run beside his wolf again, he thought with a sadness too deep\nfor words, or lie with a woman, or hold his own son in his arms.\n\nArya cocked her head to one side. “Can I be a king’s councillor and build castles and\nbecome the High Septon?”\n\n“You,” Ned said, kissing her lightly on the brow, “will marry a king and rule his castle,\nand your sons will be knights and princes and lords and, yes, perhaps even a High\nSepton.”\n\nArya screwed up her face. “No,” she said, “that’s Sansa.” She folded up her right leg and\nresumed her balancing. Ned sighed and left her there.\n\nInside his chambers, he stripped off his sweat-stained silks and sluiced cold water over\nhis head from the basin beside the bed. Alyn entered as he was drying his face. “My\nlord,” he said, “Lord Baelish is without and begs audience.”\n\n“Escort him to my solar,” Ned said, reaching for a fresh tunic, the lightest linen he could\nfind. “I’ll see him at once.”\n\nLittlefinger was perched on the window seat when Ned entered, watching the knights of\nthe Kingsguard practice at swords in the yard below. “If only old Selmy’s mind were as\nnimble as his blade,” he said wistfully, “our council meetings would be a good deal\nlivelier.”\n\n“Ser Barristan is as valiant and honorable as any man in King’s Landing.” Ned had come\nto have a deep respect for the aged, white-haired Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.\n\n“And as tiresome,” Littlefinger added, “though I daresay he should do well in the\ntourney. Last year he unhorsed the Hound, and it was only four years ago that he was\nchampion.”\n"
## [240] "The question of who might win the tourney interested Eddard Stark not in the least. “Is\nthere a reason for this visit, Lord Petyr, or are you here simply to enjoy the view from my\nwindow?”\n\nLittlefinger smiled. “I promised Cat I would help you in your inquiries, and so I have.”\n\nThat took Ned aback. Promise or no promise, he could not find it in him to trust Lord\nPetyr Baelish, who struck him as too clever by half. “You have something for me?”\n\n“Someone,” Littlefinger corrected. “Four someones, if truth be told. Had you thought to\nquestion the Hand’s servants?”\n\nNed frowned. “Would that I could. Lady Arryn took her household back to the Eyrie.”\nLysa had done him no favor in that regard. All those who had stood closest to her\nhusband had gone with her when she fled: Jon’s maester, his steward, the captain of his\nguard, his knights and retainers.\n\n“Most of her household,” Littlefinger said, “not all. A few remain. A pregnant kitchen girl\nhastily wed to one of Lord Renly’s grooms, a stablehand who joined the City Watch, a\npotboy discharged from service for theft, and Lord Arryn’s squire.”\n\n“His squire?” Ned was pleasantly surprised. A man’s squire often knew a great deal of\nhis comings and goings.\n\n“Ser Hugh of the Vale,” Littlefinger named him. “The king knighted the boy after Lord\nArryn’s death.”\n\n“I shall send for him,” Ned said. “And the others.”\n\nLittlefinger winced. “My lord, step over here to the window, if you would be so kind.”\n\n“Why?”\n\n“Come, and I’ll show you, my lord.”\n\nFrowning, Ned crossed to the window. Petyr Baelish made a casual gesture. “There,\nacross the yard, at the door of the armory, do you see the boy squatting by the steps\nhoning a sword with an oilstone?”\n\n“What of him?”\n"
## [241] "“He reports to Varys. The Spider has taken a great interest in you and all your doings.”\nHe shifted in the window seat. “Now glance at the wall. Farther west, above the stables.\nThe guardsman leaning on the ramparts?”\n\nNed saw the man. “Another of the eunuch’s whisperers?”\n\n“No, this one belongs to the queen. Notice that he enjoys a fine view of the door to this\ntower, the better to note who calls on you. There are others, many unknown even to me.\nThe Red Keep is full of eyes. Why do you think I hid Cat in a brothel?”\n\nEddard Stark had no taste for these intrigues. “Seven hells,” he swore. It did seem as\nthough the man on the walls was watching him. Suddenly uncomfortable, Ned moved\naway from the window. “Is everyone someone’s informer in this cursed city?”\n\n“Scarcely,” said Littlefinger. He counted on the fingers on his hand. “Why, there’s me,\nyou, the king . . . although, come to think on it, the king tells the queen much too much,\nand I’m less than certain about you.” He stood up. “Is there a man in your service that\nyou trust utterly and completely?”\n\n“Yes,” said Ned.\n\n“In that case, I have a delightful palace in Valyria that I would dearly love to sell you,”\nLittlefinger said with a mocking smile. “The wiser answer was no, my lord, but be that as\nit may. Send this paragon of yours to Ser Hugh and the others. Your own comings and\ngoings will be noted, but even Varys the Spider cannot watch every man in your service\nevery hour of the day.” He started for the door.\n\n“Lord Petyr,” Ned called after him. “I . . . am grateful for your help. Perhaps I was wrong\nto distrust you.”\n\nLittlefinger fingered his small pointed beard. “You are slow to learn, Lord Eddard.\nDistrusting me was the wisest thing you’ve done since you climbed down off your horse.”\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [242] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n JON\nJon was showing Dareon how best to deliver a sidestroke when the new recruit entered\nthe practice yard. “Your feet should be farther apart,” he urged. “You don’t want to lose\nyour balance. That’s good. Now pivot as you deliver the stroke, get all your weight\nbehind the blade.”\n\nDareon broke off and lifted his visor. “Seven gods,” he murmured. “Would you look at\nthis, Jon.”\n\nJon turned. Through the eye slit of his helm, he beheld the fattest boy he had ever seen\nstanding in the door of the armory. By the look of him, he must have weighed twenty\nstone. The fur collar of his embroidered surcoat was lost beneath his chins. Pale eyes\nmoved nervously in a great round moon of a face, and plump sweaty fingers wiped\nthemselves on the velvet of his doublet. “They . . . they told me I was to come here\nfor . . . for training,” he said to no one in particular.\n\n“A lordling,” Pyp observed to Jon. “Southron, most like near Highgarden.” Pyp had\ntraveled the Seven Kingdoms with a mummers’ troupe, and bragged that he could tell\nwhat you were and where you’d been born just from the sound of your voice.\n\nA striding huntsman had been worked in scarlet thread upon the breast of the fat boy’s\nfur-trimmed surcoat. Jon did not recognize the sigil. Ser Alliser Thorne looked over his\nnew charge and said, “It would seem they have run short of poachers and thieves down\nsouth. Now they send us pigs to man the Wall. Is fur and velvet your notion of armor, my\nLord of Ham?”\n\nIt was soon revealed that the new recruit had brought his own armor with him; padded\ndoublet, boiled leather, mail and plate and helm, even a great wood-and-leather shield\nblazoned with the same striding huntsman he wore on his surcoat. As none of it was\nblack, however, Ser Alliser insisted that he reequip himself from the armory. That took\nhalf the morning. His girth required Donal Noye to take apart a mail hauberk and refit it\nwith leather panels at the sides. To get a helm over his head the armorer had to detach\nthe visor. His leathers bound so tightly around his legs and under his arms that he could\nscarcely move. Dressed for battle, the new boy looked like an overcooked sausage about\nto burst its skin. “Let us hope you are not as inept as you look,” Ser Alliser said. “Halder,\nsee what Ser Piggy can do.”\n"
## [243] "Jon Snow winced. Halder had been born in a quarry and apprenticed as a stonemason.\nHe was sixteen, tall and muscular, and his blows were as hard as any Jon had ever felt.\n“This will be uglier than a whore’s ass,” Pyp muttered, and it was.\n\nThe fight lasted less than a minute before the fat boy was on the ground, his whole body\nshaking as blood leaked through his shattered helm and between his pudgy fingers. “I\nyield,” he shrilled. “No more, I yield, don’t hit me.” Rast and some of the other boys were\nlaughing.\n\nEven then, Ser Alliser would not call an end. “On your feet, Ser Piggy,” he called. “Pick\nup your sword.” When the boy continued to cling to the ground, Thorne gestured to\nHalder. “Hit him with the flat of your blade until he finds his feet.” Halder delivered a\ntentative smack to his foe’s upraised cheeks. “You can hit harder than that,” Thorne\ntaunted. Halder took hold of his longsword with both hands and brought it down so hard\nthe blow split leather, even on the flat. The new boy screeched in pain.\n\nJon Snow took a step forward. Pyp laid a mailed hand on his arm. “Jon, no,” the small\nboy whispered with an anxious glance at Ser Alliser Thorne.\n\n“On your feet,” Thorne repeated. The fat boy struggled to rise, slipped, and fell heavily\nagain. “Ser Piggy is starting to grasp the notion,” Ser Alliser observed. “Again.”\n\nHalder lifted the sword for another blow. “Cut us off a ham!” Rast urged, laughing.\n\nJon shook off Pyp’s hand. “Halder, enough.”\n\nHalder looked to Ser Alliser.\n\n“The Bastard speaks and the peasants tremble,” the master-at-arms said in that sharp,\ncold voice of his. “I remind you that I am the master-at-arms here, Lord Snow.”\n\n“Look at him, Halder,” Jon urged, ignoring Thorne as best he could. “There’s no honor\nin beating a fallen foe. He yielded.” He knelt beside the fat boy.\n\nHalder lowered his sword. “He yielded,” he echoed.\n\nSer Alliser’s onyx eyes were fixed on Jon Snow. “It would seem our Bastard is in love,” he\nsaid as Jon helped the fat boy to his feet. “Show me your steel, Lord Snow.”\n\nJon drew his longsword. He dared defy Ser Alliser only to a point, and he feared he was\nwell beyond it now.\n"
## [244] "Thorne smiled. “The Bastard wishes to defend his lady love, so we shall make an exercise\nof it. Rat, Pimple, help our Stone Head here.” Rast and Albett moved to join Halder.\n“Three of you ought to be sufficient to make Lady Piggy squeal. All you need do is get\npast the Bastard.”\n\n“Stay behind me,” Jon said to the fat boy. Ser Alliser had often sent two foes against him,\nbut never three. He knew he would likely go to sleep bruised and bloody tonight. He\nbraced himself for the assault.\n\nSuddenly Pyp was beside him. “Three to two will make for better sport,” the small boy\nsaid cheerfully. He dropped his visor and slid out his sword. Before Jon could even think\nto protest, Grenn had stepped up to make a third.\n\nThe yard had grown deathly quiet. Jon could feel Ser Alliser’s eyes. “Why are you\nwaiting?” he asked Rast and the others in a voice gone deceptively soft, but it was Jon\nwho moved first. Halder barely got his sword up in time.\n\nJon drove him backward, attacking with every blow, keeping the older boy on the heels.\nKnow your foe, Ser Rodrik had taught him once; Jon knew Halder, brutally strong but\nshort of patience, with no taste for defense. Frustrate him, and he would leave himself\nopen, as certain as sunset.\n\nThe clang of steel echoed through the yard as the others joined battle around him. Jon\nblocked a savage cut at his head, the shock of impact running up his arm as the swords\ncrashed together. He slammed a sidestroke into Halder’s ribs, and was rewarded with a\nmuffled grunt of pain. The counterstroke caught Jon on the shoulder. Chainmail\ncrunched, and pain flared up his neck, but for an instant Halder was unbalanced. Jon\ncut his left leg from under him, and he fell with a curse and a crash.\n\nGrenn was standing his ground as Jon had taught him, giving Albett more than he cared\nfor, but Pyp was hard-pressed. Rast had two years and forty pounds on him. Jon stepped\nup behind him and rang the raper’s helm like a bell. As Rast went reeling, Pyp slid in\nunder his guard, knocked him down, and leveled a blade at his throat. By then Jon had\nmoved on. Facing two swords, Albett backed away. “I yield,” he shouted.\n\nSer Alliser Thorne surveyed the scene with disgust. “The mummer’s farce has gone on\nlong enough for today.” He walked away. The session was at an end.\n\nDareon helped Halder to his feet. The quarryman’s son wrenched off his helm and threw\nit across the yard. “For an instant, I thought I finally had you, Snow.”\n"
## [245] "“For an instant, you did,” Jon replied. Under his mail and leather, his shoulder was\nthrobbing. He sheathed his sword and tried to remove his helm, but when he raised his\narm, the pain made him grit his teeth.\n\n“Let me,” a voice said. Thick-fingered hands unfastened helm from gorget and lifted it\noff gently. “Did he hurt you?”\n\n“I’ve been bruised before.” He touched his shoulder and winced. The yard was emptying\naround them.\n\nBlood matted the fat boy’s hair where Halder had split his helm asunder. “My name is\nSamwell Tarly, of Horn . . . ” He stopped and licked his lips. “I mean, I was of Horn Hill,\nuntil I . . . left. I’ve come to take the black. My father is Lord Randyll, a bannerman to the\nTyrells of Highgarden. I used to be his heir, only . . . ” His voice trailed off.\n\n“I’m Jon Snow, Ned Stark’s bastard, of Winterfell.”\n\nSamwell Tarly nodded. “I . . . if you want, you can call me Sam. My mother calls me\nSam.”\n\n“You can call him Lord Snow,” Pyp said as he came up to join them. “You don’t want to\nknow what his mother calls him.”\n\n“These two are Grenn and Pypar,” Jon said.\n\n“Grenn’s the ugly one,” Pyp said.\n\nGrenn scowled. “You’re uglier than me. At least I don’t have ears like a bat.”\n\n“My thanks to all of you,” the fat boy said gravely.\n\n“Why didn’t you get up and fight?” Grenn demanded.\n\n“I wanted to, truly. I just . . . I couldn’t. I didn’t want him to hit me anymore.” He looked\nat the ground. “I . . . I fear I’m a coward. My lord father always said so.”\n\nGrenn looked thunderstruck. Even Pyp had no words to say to that, and Pyp had words\nfor everything. What sort of man would proclaim himself a coward?\n\nSamwell Tarly must have read their thoughts on their faces. His eyes met Jon’s and\ndarted away, quick as frightened animals. “I . . . I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t mean\n"
## [246] "to . . . to be like I am.” He walked heavily toward the armory.\n\nJon called after him. “You were hurt,” he said. “Tomorrow you’ll do better.”\n\nSam looked mournfully back over one shoulder. “No I won’t,” he said, blinking back\ntears. “I never do better.”\n\nWhen he was gone, Grenn frowned. “Nobody likes cravens,” he said uncomfortably. “I\nwish we hadn’t helped him. What if they think we’re craven too?”\n\n“You’re too stupid to be craven,” Pyp told him.\n\n“I am not,” Grenn said.\n\n“Yes you are. If a bear attacked you in the woods, you’d be too stupid to run away.”\n\n“I would not,” Grenn insisted. “I’d run away faster than you.” He stopped suddenly,\nscowling when he saw Pyp’s grin and realized what he’d just said. His thick neck flushed\na dark red. Jon left them there arguing as he returned to the armory, hung up his sword,\nand stripped off his battered armor.\n\nLife at Castle Black followed certain patterns; the mornings were for swordplay, the\nafternoons for work. The black brothers set new recruits to many different tasks, to learn\nwhere their skills lay. Jon cherished the rare afternoons when he was sent out with\nGhost ranging at his side to bring back game for the Lord Commander’s table, but for\nevery day spent hunting, he gave a dozen to Donal Noye in the armory, spinning the\nwhetstone while the one-armed smith sharpened axes grown dull from use, or pumping\nthe bellows as Noye hammered out a new sword. Other times he ran messages, stood at\nguard, mucked out stables, fletched arrows, assisted Maester Aemon with his birds or\nBowen Marsh with his counts and inventories.\n\nThat afternoon, the watch commander sent him to the winch cage with four barrels of\nfresh-crushed stone, to scatter gravel over the icy footpaths atop the Wall. It was lonely\nand boring work, even with Ghost along for company, but Jon found he did not mind.\nOn a clear day you could see half the world from the top of the Wall, and the air was\nalways cold and bracing. He could think here, and he found himself thinking of Samwell\nTarly . . . and, oddly, of Tyrion Lannister. He wondered what Tyrion would have made of\nthe fat boy. Most men would rather deny a hard truth than face it, the dwarf had told\nhim, grinning. The world was full of cravens who pretended to be heroes; it took a queer\nsort of courage to admit to cowardice as Samwell Tarly had.\n\nHis sore shoulder made the work go slowly. It was late afternoon before Jon finished\n"
## [247] "graveling the paths. He lingered on high to watch the sun go down, turning the western\nsky the color of blood. Finally, as dusk was settling over the north, Jon rolled the empty\nbarrels back into the cage and signaled the winch men to lower him.\n\nThe evening meal was almost done by the time he and Ghost reached the common hall.\nA group of the black brothers were dicing over mulled wine near the fire. His friends\nwere at the bench nearest the west wall, laughing. Pyp was in the middle of a story. The\nmummer’s boy with the big ears was a born liar with a hundred different voices, and he\ndid not tell his tales so much as live them, playing all the parts as needed, a king one\nmoment and a swineherd the next. When he turned into an alehouse girl or a virgin\nprincess, he used a high falsetto voice that reduced them all to tears of helpless laughter,\nand his eunuchs were always eerily accurate caricatures of Ser Alliser. Jon took as much\npleasure from Pyp’s antics as anyone . . . yet that night he turned away and went instead\nto the end of the bench, where Samwell Tarly sat alone, as far from the others as he\ncould get.\n\nHe was finishing the last of the pork pie the cooks had served up for supper when Jon\nsat down across from him. The fat boy’s eyes widened at the sight of Ghost. “Is that a\nwolf?”\n\n“A direwolf,” Jon said. “His name is Ghost. The direwolf is the sigil of my father’s\nHouse.”\n\n“Ours is a striding huntsman,” Samwell Tarly said.\n\n“Do you like to hunt?”\n\nThe fat boy shuddered. “I hate it.” He looked as though he was going to cry again.\n\n“What’s wrong now?” Jon asked him. “Why are you always so frightened?”\n\nSam stared at the last of his pork pie and gave a feeble shake of his head, too scared even\nto talk. A burst of laughter filled the hall. Jon heard Pyp squeaking in a high voice. He\nstood. “Let’s go outside.”\n\nThe round fat face looked up at him, suspicious. “Why? What will we do outside?”\n\n“Talk,” Jon said. “Have you seen the Wall?”\n\n“I’m fat, not blind,” Samwell Tarly said. “Of course I saw it, it’s seven hundred feet high.”\nYet he stood up all the same, wrapped a fur-lined cloak over his shoulders, and followed\nJon from the common hall, still wary, as if he suspected some cruel trick was waiting for\n"
## [248] "him in the night. Ghost padded along beside them. “I never thought it would be like\nthis,” Sam said as they walked, his words steaming in the cold air. Already he was\nhuffing and puffing as he tried to keep up. “All the buildings are falling down, and it’s\nso . . . so . . . ”\n\n“Cold?” A hard frost was settling over the castle, and Jon could hear the soft crunch of\ngrey weeds beneath his boots.\n\nSam nodded miserably. “I hate the cold,” he said. “Last night I woke up in the dark and\nthe fire had gone out and I was certain I was going to freeze to death by morning.”\n\n“It must have been warmer where you come from.”\n\n“I never saw snow until last month. We were crossing the barrowlands, me and the men\nmy father sent to see me north, and this white stuff began to fall, like a soft rain. At first I\nthought it was so beautiful, like feathers drifting from the sky, but it kept on and on,\nuntil I was frozen to the bone. The men had crusts of snow in their beards and more on\ntheir shoulders, and still it kept coming. I was afraid it would never end.”\n\nJon smiled.\n\nThe Wall loomed before them, glimmering palely in the light of the half moon. In the sky\nabove, the stars burned clear and sharp. “Are they going to make me go up there?” Sam\nasked. His face curdled like old milk as he looked at the great wooden stairs. “I’ll die if I\nhave to climb that.”\n\n“There’s a winch,” Jon said, pointing. “They can draw you up in a cage.”\n\nSamwell Tarly sniffled. “I don’t like high places.”\n\nIt was too much. Jon frowned, incredulous. “Are you afraid of everything?” he asked. “I\ndon’t understand. If you are truly so craven, why are you here? Why would a coward\nwant to join the Night’s Watch?”\n\nSamwell Tarly looked at him for a long moment, and his round face seemed to cave in on\nitself. He sat down on the frost-covered ground and began to cry, huge choking sobs that\nmade his whole body shake. Jon Snow could only stand and watch. Like the snowfall on\nthe barrowlands, it seemed the tears would never end.\n\nIt was Ghost who knew what to do. Silent as shadow, the pale direwolf moved closer and\nbegan to lick the warm tears off Samwell Tarly’s face. The fat boy cried out,\nstartled . . . and somehow, in a heartbeat, his sobs turned to laughter.\n"
## [249] "Jon Snow laughed with him. Afterward they sat on the frozen ground, huddled in their\ncloaks with Ghost between them. Jon told the story of how he and Robb had found the\npups newborn in the late summer snows. It seemed a thousand years ago now. Before\nlong he found himself talking of Winterfell.\n\n“Sometimes I dream about it,” he said. “I’m walking down this long empty hall. My voice\nechoes all around, but no one answers, so I walk faster, opening doors, shouting names.\nI don’t even know who I’m looking for. Most nights it’s my father, but sometimes it’s\nRobb instead, or my little sister Arya, or my uncle.” The thought of Benjen Stark\nsaddened him; his uncle was still missing. The Old Bear had sent out rangers in search\nof him. Ser Jaremy Rykker had led two sweeps, and Quorin Halfhand had gone forth\nfrom the Shadow Tower, but they’d found nothing aside from a few blazes in the trees\nthat his uncle had left to mark his way. In the stony highlands to the northwest, the\nmarks stopped abruptly and all trace of Ben Stark vanished.\n\n“Do you ever find anyone in your dream?” Sam asked.\n\nJon shook his head. “No one. The castle is always empty.” He had never told anyone of\nthe dream, and he did not understand why he was telling Sam now, yet somehow it felt\ngood to talk of it. “Even the ravens are gone from the rookery, and the stables are full of\nbones. That always scares me. I start to run then, throwing open doors, climbing the\ntower three steps at a time, screaming for someone, for anyone. And then I find myself\nin front of the door to the crypts. It’s black inside, and I can see the steps spiraling down.\nSomehow I know I have to go down there, but I don’t want to. I’m afraid of what might\nbe waiting for me. The old Kings of Winter are down there, sitting on their thrones with\nstone wolves at their feet and iron swords across their laps, but it’s not them I’m afraid\nof. I scream that I’m not a Stark, that this isn’t my place, but it’s no good, I have to go\nanyway, so I start down, feeling the walls as I descend, with no torch to light the way. It\ngets darker and darker, until I want to scream.” He stopped, frowning, embarrassed.\n“That’s when I always wake.” His skin cold and clammy, shivering in the darkness of his\ncell. Ghost would leap up beside him, his warmth as comforting as daybreak. He would\ngo back to sleep with his face pressed into the direwolf s shaggy white fur. “Do you\ndream of Horn Hill?” Jon asked.\n\n“No.” Sam’s mouth grew tight and hard. “I hated it there.” He scratched Ghost behind\nthe ear, brooding, and Jon let the silence breathe. After a long while Samwell Tarly\nbegan to talk, and Jon Snow listened quietly, and learned how it was that a self-\nconfessed coward found himself on the Wall.\n\nThe Tarlys were a family old in honor, bannermen to Mace Tyrell, Lord of Highgarden\nand Warden of the South. The eldest son of Lord Randyll Tarly, Samwell was born heir\n"
## [250] "to rich lands, a strong keep, and a storied two-handed greatsword named Heartsbane,\nforged of Valyrian steel and passed down from father to son near five hundred years.\n\nWhatever pride his lord father might have felt at Samwell’s birth vanished as the boy\ngrew up plump, soft, and awkward. Sam loved to listen to music and make his own\nsongs, to wear soft velvets, to play in the castle kitchen beside the cooks, drinking in the\nrich smells as he snitched lemon cakes and blueberry tarts. His passions were books and\nkittens and dancing, clumsy as he was. But he grew ill at the sight of blood, and wept to\nsee even a chicken slaughtered. A dozen masters-at-arms came and went at Horn Hill,\ntrying to turn Samwell into the knight his father wanted. The boy was cursed and caned,\nslapped and starved. One man had him sleep in his chainmail to make him more\nmartial. Another dressed him in his mother’s clothing and paraded him through the\nbailey to shame him into valor. He only grew fatter and more frightened, until Lord\nRandyll’s disappointment turned to anger and then to loathing. “One time,” Sam\nconfided, his voice dropping from a whisper, “two men came to the castle, warlocks from\nQarth with white skin and blue lips. They slaughtered a bull aurochs and made me bathe\nin the hot blood, but it didn’t make me brave as they’d promised. I got sick and retched.\nFather had them scourged.”\n\nFinally, after three girls in as many years, Lady Tarly gave her lord husband a second\nson. From that day, Lord Randyll ignored Sam, devoting all his time to the younger boy,\na fierce, robust child more to his liking. Samwell had known several years of sweet peace\nwith his music and his books.\n\nUntil the dawn of his fifteenth name day, when he had been awakened to find his horse\nsaddled and ready. Three men-at-arms had escorted him into a wood near Horn Hill,\nwhere his father was skinning a deer. “You are almost a man grown now, and my heir,”\nLord Randyll Tarly had told his eldest son, his long knife laying bare the carcass as he\nspoke. “You have given me no cause to disown you, but neither will I allow you to inherit\nthe land and title that should be Dickon’s. Heartsbane must go to a man strong enough\nto wield her, and you are not worthy to touch her hilt. So I have decided that you shall\nthis day announce that you wish to take the black. You will forsake all claim to your\nbrother’s inheritance and start north before evenfall.\n\n“If you do not, then on the morrow we shall have a hunt, and somewhere in these woods\nyour horse will stumble, and you will be thrown from the saddle to die . . . or so I will tell\nyour mother. She has a woman’s heart and finds it in her to cherish even you, and I have\nno wish to cause her pain. Please do not imagine that it will truly be that easy, should\nyou think to defy me. Nothing would please me more than to hunt you down like the pig\nyou are.” His arms were red to the elbow as he laid the skinning knife aside. “So. There is\nyour choice. The Night’s Watch”—he reached inside the deer, ripped out its heart, and\nheld it in his fist, red and dripping—“or this.”\n"
## [251] "Sam told the tale in a calm, dead voice, as if it were something that had happened to\nsomeone else, not to him. And strangely, Jon thought, he did not weep, not even once.\nWhen he was done, they sat together and listened to the wind for a time. There was no\nother sound in all the world.\n\nFinally Jon said, “We should go back to the common hall.”\n\n“Why?” Sam asked.\n\nJon shrugged. “There’s hot cider to drink, or mulled wine if you prefer. Some nights\nDareon sings for us, if the mood is on him. He was a singer, before . . . well, not truly, but\nalmost, an apprentice singer.”\n\n“How did he come here?” Sam asked.\n\n“Lord Rowan of Goldengrove found him in bed with his daughter. The girl was two years\nolder, and Dareon swears she helped him through her window, but under her father’s\neye she named it rape, so here he is. When Maester Aemon heard him sing, he said his\nvoice was honey poured over thunder.” Jon smiled. “Toad sometimes sings too, if you\ncall it singing. Drinking songs he learned in his father’s winesink. Pyp says his voice is\npiss poured over a fart.” They laughed at that together.\n\n“I should like to hear them both,” Sam admitted, “but they would not want me there.”\nHis face was troubled. “He’s going to make me fight again on the morrow, isn’t he?”\n\n“He is,” Jon was forced to say.\n\nSam got awkwardly to his feet. “I had better try to sleep.” He huddled down in his cloak\nand plodded off.\n\nThe others were still in the common room when Jon returned, alone but for Ghost.\n“Where have you been?” Pyp asked.\n\n“Talking with Sam,” he said.\n\n“He truly is craven,” said Grenn. “At supper, there were still places on the bench when he\ngot his pie, but he was too scared to come sit with us.”\n\n“The Lord of Ham thinks he’s too good to eat with the likes of us,” suggested Jeren.\n\n“I saw him eat a pork pie,” Toad said, smirking. “Do you think it was a brother?” He\n"
## [252] "began to make oinking noises.\n\n“Stop it!” Jon snapped angrily.\n\nThe other boys fell silent, taken aback by his sudden fury. “Listen to me,” Jon said into\nthe quiet, and he told them how it was going to be. Pyp backed him, as he’d known he\nwould, but when Halder spoke up, it was a pleasant surprise. Grenn was anxious at the\nfirst, but Jon knew the words to move him. One by one the rest fell in line. Jon\npersuaded some, cajoled some, shamed the others, made threats where threats were\nrequired. At the end they had all agreed . . . all but Rast.\n\n“You girls do as you please,” Rast said, “but if Thorne sends me against Lady Piggy, I’m\ngoing to slice me off a rasher of bacon.” He laughed in Jon’s face and left them there.\n\nHours later, as the castle slept, three of them paid a call on his cell. Grenn held his arms\nwhile Pyp sat on his legs. Jon could hear Rast’s rapid breathing as Ghost leapt onto his\nchest. The direwolf’s eyes burned red as embers as his teeth nipped lightly at the soft\nskin of the boy’s throat, just enough to draw blood. “Remember, we know where you\nsleep,” Jon said softly.\n\nThe next morning Jon heard Rast tell Albett and Toad how his razor had slipped while\nhe shaved.\n\nFrom that day forth, neither Rast nor any of the others would hurt Samwell Tarly. When\nSer Alliser matched them against him, they would stand their ground and swat aside his\nslow, clumsy strokes. If the master-at-arms screamed for an attack, they would dance in\nand tap Sam lightly on breastplate or helm or leg. Ser Alliser raged and threatened and\ncalled them all cravens and women and worse, yet Sam remained unhurt. A few nights\nlater, at Jon’s urging, he joined them for the evening meal, taking a place on the bench\nbeside Halder. It was another fortnight before he found the nerve to join their talk, but\nin time he was laughing at Pyp’s faces and teasing Grenn with the best of them.\n\nFat and awkward and frightened he might be, but Samwell Tarly was no fool. One night\nhe visited Jon in his cell. “I don’t know what you did,” he said, “but I know you did it.”\nHe looked away shyly. “I’ve never had a friend before.”\n\n“We’re not friends,” Jon said. He put a hand on Sam’s broad shoulder. “We’re brothers.”\n\nAnd so they were, he thought to himself after Sam had taken his leave. Robb and Bran\nand Rickon were his father’s sons, and he loved them still, yet Jon knew that he had\nnever truly been one of them. Catelyn Stark had seen to that. The grey walls of Winterfell\nmight still haunt his dreams, but Castle Black was his life now, and his brothers were\n"
## [253] "Sam and Grenn and Halder and Pyp and the other cast-outs who wore the black of the\nNight’s Watch.\n\n“My uncle spoke truly,” he whispered to Ghost. He wondered if he would ever see Benjen\nStark again, to tell him.\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [254] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n EDDARD\nIt’s the Hand’s tourney that’s the cause of all the trouble, my lords,” the Commander of\nthe City Watch complained to the king’s council.\n\n“The king’s tourney,” Ned corrected, wincing. “I assure you, the Hand wants no part of\nit.”\n\n“Call it what you will, my lord. Knights have been arriving from all over the realm, and\nfor every knight we get two freeriders, three craftsmen, six men-at-arms, a dozen\nmerchants, two dozen whores, and more thieves than I dare guess. This cursed heat had\nhalf the city in a fever to start, and now with all these visitors . . . last night we had a\ndrowning, a tavern riot, three knife fights, a rape, two fires, robberies beyond count, and\na drunken horse race down the Street of the Sisters. The night before a woman’s head\nwas found in the Great Sept, floating in the rainbow pool. No one seems to know how it\ngot there or who it belongs to.”\n\n“How dreadful,” Varys said with a shudder.\n\nLord Renly Baratheon was less sympathetic. “If you cannot keep the king’s peace, Janos,\nperhaps the City Watch should be commanded by someone who can.”\n\nStout, jowly Janos Slynt puffed himself up like an angry frog, his bald pate reddening.\n“Aegon the Dragon himself could not keep the peace, Lord Renly. I need more men.”\n\n“How many?” Ned asked, leaning forward. As ever, Robert had not troubled himself to\nattend the council session, so it fell to his Hand to speak for him.\n\n“As many as can be gotten, Lord Hand.”\n\n“Hire fifty new men,” Ned told him. “Lord Baelish will see that you get the coin.”\n\n“I will?” Littlefinger said.\n\n“You will. You found forty thousand golden dragons for a champion’s purse, surely you\ncan scrape together a few coppers to keep the king’s peace.” Ned turned back to Janos\nSlynt. “I will also give you twenty good swords from my own household guard, to serve\n"
## [255] "with the Watch until the crowds have left.”\n\n“All thanks, Lord Hand,” Slynt said, bowing. “I promise you, they shall be put to good\nuse.”\n\nWhen the Commander had taken his leave, Eddard Stark turned to the rest of the\ncouncil. “The sooner this folly is done with, the better I shall like it.” As if the expense\nand trouble were not irksome enough, all and sundry insisted on salting Ned’s wound by\ncalling it “the Hand’s tourney,” as if he were the cause of it. And Robert honestly seemed\nto think he should feel honored!\n\n“The realm prospers from such events, my lord,” Grand Maester Pycelle said. “They\nbring the great the chance of glory, and the lowly a respite from their woes.”\n\n“And put coins in many a pocket,” Littlefinger added. “Every inn in the city is full, and\nthe whores are walking bowlegged and jingling with each step.”\n\nLord Renly laughed. “We’re fortunate my brother Stannis is not with us. Remember the\ntime he proposed to outlaw brothels? The king asked him if perhaps he’d like to outlaw\neating, shitting, and breathing while he was at it. If truth be told, I ofttimes wonder how\nStannis ever got that ugly daughter of his. He goes to his marriage bed like a man\nmarching to a battlefield, with a grim look in his eyes and a determination to do his\nduty.”\n\nNed had not joined the laughter. “I wonder about your brother Stannis as well. I wonder\nwhen he intends to end his visit to Dragonstone and resume his seat on this council.”\n\n“No doubt as soon as we’ve scourged all those whores into the sea,” Littlefinger replied,\nprovoking more laughter.\n\n“I have heard quite enough about whores for one day,” Ned said, rising. “Until the\nmorrow.”\n\nHarwin had the door when Ned returned to the Tower of the Hand. “Summon Jory to\nmy chambers and tell your father to saddle my horse,” Ned told him, too brusquely.\n\n“As you say, my lord.”\n\nThe Red Keep and the “Hand’s tourney” were chafing him raw, Ned reflected as he\nclimbed. He yearned for the comfort of Catelyn’s arms, for the sounds of Robb and Jon\ncrossing swords in the practice yard, for the cool days and cold nights of the north.\n"
## [256] "In his chambers he stripped off his council silks and sat for a moment with the book\nwhile he waited for Jory to arrive. The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the\nSeven Kingdoms, With Descliptions of Many High Lords and Noble Ladies and Their\nChildren, by Grand Maester Malleon. Pycelle had spoken truly; it made for ponderous\nreading. Yet Jon Arryn had asked for it, and Ned felt certain he had reasons. There was\nsomething here, some truth buried in these brittle yellow pages, if only he could see it.\nBut what? The tome was over a century old. Scarcely a man now alive had yet been born\nwhen Malleon had compiled his dusty lists of weddings, births, and deaths.\n\nHe opened to the section on House Lannister once more, and turned the pages slowly,\nhoping against hope that something would leap out at him. The Lannisters were an old\nfamily, tracing their descent back to Lann the Clever, a trickster from the Age of Heroes\nwho was no doubt as legendary as Bran the Builder, though far more beloved of singers\nand taletellers. In the songs, Lann was the fellow who winkled the Casterlys out of\nCasterly Rock with no weapon but his wits, and stole gold from the sun to brighten his\ncurly hair. Ned wished he were here now, to winkle the truth out of this damnable book.\n\nA sharp rap on the door heralded Jory Cassel. Ned closed Malleon’s tome and bid him\nenter. “I’ve promised the City Watch twenty of my guard until the tourney is done,” he\ntold him. “I rely on you to make the choice. Give Alyn the command, and make certain\nthe men understand that they are needed to stop fights, not start them.” Rising, Ned\nopened a cedar chest and removed a light linen undertunic. “Did you find the stableboy?”\n\n“The watchman, my lord,” Jory said. “He vows he’ll never touch another horse.”\n\n“What did he have to say?”\n\n“He claims he knew Lord Arryn well. Fast friends, they were.” Jory snorted. “The Hand\nalways gave the lads a copper on their name days, he says. Had a way with horses. Never\nrode his mounts too hard, and brought them carrots and apples, so they were always\npleased to see him.”\n\n“Carrots and apples,” Ned repeated. It sounded as if this boy would be even less use than\nthe others. And he was the last of the four Littlefinger had turned up. Jory had spoken to\neach of them in turn. Ser Hugh had been brusque and uninformative, and arrogant as\nonly a new-made knight can be. If the Hand wished to talk to him, he should be pleased\nto receive him, but he would not be questioned by a mere captain of guards . . . even if\nsaid captain was ten years older and a hundred times the swordsman. The serving girl\nhad at least been pleasant. She said Lord Jon had been reading more than was good for\nhim, that he was troubled and melancholy over his young son’s frailty, and gruff with his\nlady wife. The potboy, now cordwainer, had never exchanged so much as a word with\nLord Jon, but he was full of oddments of kitchen gossip: the lord had been quarreling\n"
## [257] "with the king, the lord only picked at his food, the lord was sending his boy to be\nfostered on Dragonstone, the lord had taken a great interest in the breeding of hunting\nhounds, the lord had visited a master armorer to commission a new suit of plate,\nwrought all in pale silver with a blue jasper falcon and a mother-of-pearl moon on the\nbreast. The king’s own brother had gone with him to help choose the design, the potboy\nsaid. No, not Lord Renly, the other one, Lord Stannis.\n\n“Did our watchman recall anything else of note?”\n\n“The lad swears Lord Jon was as strong as a man half his age. Often went riding with\nLord Stannis, he says.”\n\nStannis again, Ned thought. He found that curious. Jon Arryn and he had been cordial,\nbut never friendly. And while Robert had been riding north to Winterfell, Stannis had\nremoved himself to Dragonstone, the Targaryen island fastness he had conquered in his\nbrother’s name. He had given no word as to when he might return. “Where did they go\non these rides?” Ned asked.\n\n“The boy says that they visited a brothel.”\n\n“A brothel?” Ned said. “The Lord of the Eyrie and Hand of the King visited a brothel with\nStannis Baratheon?” He shook his head, incredulous, wondering what Lord Renly\nwould make of this tidbit. Robert’s lusts were the subject of ribald drinking songs\nthroughout the realm, but Stannis was a different sort of man; a bare year younger than\nthe king, yet utterly unlike him, stern, humorless, unforgiving, grim in his sense of duty.\n\n“The boy insists it’s true. The Hand took three guardsmen with him, and the boy says\nthey were joking of it when he took their horses afterward.”\n\n“Which brothel?” Ned asked.\n\n“The boy did not know. The guards would.”\n\n“A pity Lysa carried them off to the Vale,” Ned said dryly. “The gods are doing their best\nto vex us. Lady Lysa, Maester Colemon, Lord Stannis . . . everyone who might actually\nknow the truth of what happened to Jon Arryn is a thousand leagues away.”\n\n“Will you summon Lord Stannis back from Dragonstone?”\n\n“Not yet,” Ned said. “Not until I have a better notion of what this is all about and where\nhe stands.” The matter nagged at him. Why did Stannis leave? Had he played some part\nin Jon Arryn’s murder? Or was he afraid? Ned found it hard to imagine what could\n"
## [258] "frighten Stannis Baratheon, who had once held Storm’s End through a year of siege,\nsurviving on rats and boot leather while the Lords Tyrell and Redwyne sat outside with\ntheir hosts, banqueting in sight of his walls.\n\n“Bring me my doublet, if you would. The grey, with the direwolf sigil. I want this armorer\nto know who I am. It might make him more forthcoming.”\n\nJory went to the wardrobe. “Lord Renly is brother to Lord Stannis as well as the king.”\n\n“Yet it seems that he was not invited on these rides.” Ned was not sure what to make of\nRenly, with all his friendly ways and easy smiles. A few days past, he had taken Ned\naside to show him an exquisite rose gold locklet. Inside was a miniature painted in the\nvivid Myrish style, of a lovely young girl with doe’s eyes and a cascade of soft brown hair.\nRenly had seemed anxious to know if the girl reminded him of anyone, and when Ned\nhad no answer but a shrug, he had seemed disappointed. The maid was Loras Tyrell’s\nsister Margaery, he’d confessed, but there were those who said she looked like Lyanna.\n“No,” Ned had told him, bemused. Could it be that Lord Renly, who looked so like a\nyoung Robert, had conceived a passion for a girl he fancied to be a young Lyanna? That\nstruck him as more than passing queer.\n\nJory held out the doublet, and Ned slid his hands through the armholes. “Perhaps Lord\nStannis will return for Robert’s tourney,” he said as Jory laced the garment up the back.\n\n“That would be a stroke of fortune, my lord,” Jory said.\n\nNed buckled on a longsword. “In other words, not bloody likely.” His smile was grim.\n\nJory draped Ned’s cloak across his shoulders and clasped it at the throat with the Hand’s\nbadge of office. “The armorer lives above his shop, in a large house at the top of the\nStreet of Steel. Alyn knows the way, my lord.”\n\nNed nodded. “The gods help this potboy if he’s sent me off haring after shadows.” It was\na slim enough staff to lean on, but the Jon Arryn that Ned Stark had known was not one\nto wear jeweled and silvered plate. Steel was steel; it was meant for protection, not\nornament. He might have changed his views, to be sure. He would scarcely have been\nthe first man who came to look on things differently after a few years at court . . . but the\nchange was marked enough to make Ned wonder.\n\n“Is there any other service I might perform?”\n\n“I suppose you’d best begin visiting whorehouses.”\n"
## [259] "“Hard duty, my lord.” Jory grinned. “The men will be glad to help. Porther has made a\nfair start already.”\n\nNed’s favorite horse was saddled and waiting in the yard. Varly and Jacks fell in beside\nhim as he rode through the yard. Their steel caps and shirts of mail must have been\nsweltering, yet they said no word of complaint. As Lord Eddard passed beneath the\nKing’s Gate into the stink of the city, his grey and white cloak streaming from his\nshoulders, he saw eyes everywhere and kicked his mount into a trot. His guard followed.\n\nHe looked behind him frequently as they made their way through the crowded city\nstreets. Tomard and Desmond had left the castle early this morning to take up positions\non the route they must take, and watch for anyone following them, but even so, Ned was\nuncertain. The shadow of the King’s Spider and his little birds had him fretting like a\nmaiden on her wedding night.\n\nThe Street of Steel began at the market square beside the River Gate, as it was named on\nmaps, or the Mud Gate, as it was commonly called. A mummer on stilts was striding\nthrough the throngs like some great insect, with a horde of barefoot children trailing\nbehind him, hooting. Elsewhere, two ragged boys no older than Bran were dueling with\nsticks, to the loud encouragement of some and the furious curses of others. An old\nwoman ended the contest by leaning out of her window and emptying a bucket of slops\non the heads of the combatants. In the shadow of the wall, farmers stood beside their\nwagons, bellowing out, “Apples, the best apples, cheap at twice the price,” and “Blood\nmelons, sweet as honey,” and “Turnips, onions, roots, here you go here, here you go,\nturnips, onions, roots, here you go here.”\n\nThe Mud Gate was open, and a squad of City Watchmen stood under the portcullis in\ntheir golden cloaks, leaning on spears. When a column of riders appeared from the west,\nthe guardsmen sprang into action, shouting commands and moving the carts and foot\ntraffic aside to let the knight enter with his escort. The first rider through the gate\ncarried a long black banner. The silk rippled in the wind like a living thing; across the\nfabric was blazoned a night sky slashed with purple lightning. “Make way for Lord\nBeric!” the rider shouted. “Make way for Lord Beric!” And close behind came the young\nlord himself, a dashing figure on a black courser, with red-gold hair and a black satin\ncloak dusted with stars. “Here to fight in the Hand’s tourney, my lord?” a guardsman\ncalled out to him. “Here to win the Hand’s tourney,” Lord Beric shouted back as the\ncrowd cheered.\n\nNed turned off the square where the Street of Steel began and followed its winding path\nup a long hill, past blacksmiths working at open forges, freeriders haggling over mail\nshirts, and grizzled ironmongers selling old blades and razors from their wagons. The\nfarther they climbed, the larger the buildings grew. The man they wanted was all the way\n"
## [260] "at the top of the hill, in a huge house of timber and plaster whose upper stories loomed\nover the narrow street. The double doors showed a hunting scene carved in ebony and\nweirwood. A pair of stone knights stood sentry at the entrance, armored in fanciful suits\nof polished red steel that transformed them into griffin and unicorn. Ned left his horse\nwith Jacks and shouldered his way inside.\n\nThe slim young serving girl took quick note of Ned’s badge and the sigil on his doublet,\nand the master came hurrying out, all smiles and bows. “Wine for the King’s Hand,” he\ntold the girl, gesturing Ned to a couch. “I am Tobho Mott, my lord, please, please, put\nyourself at ease.” He wore a black velvet coat with hammers embroidered on the sleeves\nin silver thread, Around his neck was a heavy silver chain and a sapphire as large as a\npigeon’s egg. “If you are in need of new arms for the Hand’s tourney, you have come to\nthe right shop.” Ned did not bother to correct him. “My work is costly, and I make no\napologies for that, my lord,” he said as he filled two matching silver goblets. “You will\nnot find craftsmanship equal to mine anywhere in the Seven Kingdoms, I promise you.\nVisit every forge in King’s Landing if you like, and compare for yourself. Any village\nsmith can hammer out a shirt of mail; my work is art.”\n\nNed sipped his wine and let the man go on. The Knight of Flowers bought all his armor\nhere, Tobho boasted, and many high lords, the ones who knew fine steel, and even Lord\nRenly, the king’s own brother. Perhaps the Hand had seen Lord Renly’s new armor, the\ngreen plate with the golden antlers? No other armorer in the city could get that deep a\ngreen; he knew the secret of putting color in the steel itself, paint and enamel were the\ncrutches of a journeyman. Or mayhaps the Hand wanted a blade? Tobho had learned to\nwork Valyrian steel at the forges of Qohor as a boy. Only a man who knew the spells\ncould take old weapons and forge them anew. “The direwolf is the sigil of House Stark, is\nit not? I could fashion a direwolf helm so real that children will run from you in the\nstreet,” he vowed.\n\nNed smiled. “Did you make a falcon helm for Lord Arryn?”\n\nTobho Mott paused a long moment and set aside his wine. “The Hand did call upon me,\nwith Lord Stannis, the king’s brother. I regret to say, they did not honor me with their\npatronage.”\n\nNed looked at the man evenly, saying nothing, waiting. He had found over the years that\nsilence sometimes yielded more than questions. And so it was this time.\n\n“They asked to see the boy,” the armorer said, “so I took them back to the forge.”\n\n“The boy,” Ned echoed. He had no notion who the boy might be. “I should like to see the\nboy as well.”\n"
## [261] "Tobho Mott gave him a cool, careful look. “As you wish, my lord,” he said with no trace\nof his former friendliness. He led Ned out a rear door and across a narrow yard, back to\nthe cavernous stone barn where the work was done. When the armorer opened the door,\nthe blast of hot air that came through made Ned feel as though he were walking into a\ndragon’s mouth. Inside, a forge blazed in each corner, and the air stank of smoke and\nsulfur. Journeymen armorers glanced up from their hammers and tongs just long\nenough to wipe the sweat from their brows, while bare-chested apprentice boys worked\nthe bellows.\n\nThe master called over a tall lad about Robb’s age, his arms and chest corded with\nmuscle. “This is Lord Stark, the new Hand of the King,” he told him as the boy looked at\nNed through sullen blue eyes and pushed back sweat-soaked hair with his fingers. Thick\nhair, shaggy and unkempt and black as ink. The shadow of a new beard darkened his\njaw. “This is Gendry. Strong for his age, and he works hard. Show the Hand that helmet\nyou made, lad.” Almost shyly, the boy led them to his bench, and a steel helm shaped\nlike a bull’s head, with two great curving horns.\n\nNed turned the helm over in his hands. It was raw steel, unpolished but expertly shaped.\n“This is fine work. I would be pleased if you would let me buy it.”\n\nThe boy snatched it out of his hands. “It’s not for sale.”\n\nTobho Mott looked horror-struck. “Boy, this is the King’s Hand. If his lordship wants\nthis helm, make him a gift of it. He honors you by asking.”\n\n“I made it for me,” the boy said stubbornly.\n\n“A hundred pardons, my lord,” his master said hurriedly to Ned. “The boy is crude as\nnew steel, and like new steel would profit from some beating. That helm is journeyman’s\nwork at best. Forgive him and I promise I will craft you a helm like none you have ever\nseen.”\n\n“He’s done nothing that requires my forgiveness. Gendry, when Lord Arryn came to see\nyou, what did you talk about?”\n\n“He asked me questions is all, m’lord.”\n\n“What sort of questions?”\n\nThe boy shrugged. “How was I, and was I well treated, and if I liked the work, and stuff\nabout my mother. Who she was and what she looked like and all.”\n"
## [262] "“What did you tell him?” Ned asked.\n\nThe boy shoved a fresh fall of black hair off his forehead. “She died when I was little. She\nhad yellow hair, and sometimes she used to sing to me, I remember. She worked in an\nalehouse.”\n\n“Did Lord Stannis question you as well?”\n\n“The bald one? No, not him. He never said no word, just glared at me, like I was some\nraper who done for his daughter.”\n\n“Mind your filthy tongue,” the master said. “This is the King’s own Hand.” The boy\nlowered his eyes. “A smart boy, but stubborn. That helm . . . the others call him\nbullheaded, so he threw it in their teeth.”\n\nNed touched the boy’s head, fingering the thick black hair. “Look at me, Gendry.” The\napprentice lifted his face. Ned studied the shape of his jaw, the eyes like blue ice. Yes, he\nthought, I see it. “Go back to your work, lad. I’m sorry to have bothered you.” He walked\nback to the house with the master. “Who paid the boy’s apprentice fee?” he asked lightly.\n\nMott looked fretful. “You saw the boy. Such a strong boy. Those hands of his, those\nhands were made for hammers. He had such promise, I took him on without a fee.”\n\n“The truth now,” Ned urged. “The streets are full of strong boys. The day you take on an\napprentice without a fee will be the day the Wall comes down. Who paid for him?”\n\n“A lord,” the master said reluctantly. “He gave no name, and wore no sigil on his coat.\nHe paid in gold, twice the customary sum, and said he was paying once for the boy, and\nonce for my silence.”\n\n“Describe him.”\n\n“He was stout, round of shoulder, not so tall as you. Brown beard, but there was a bit of\nred in it, I’ll swear. He wore a rich cloak, that I do remember, heavy purple velvet\nworked with silver threads, but the hood shadowed his face and I never did see him\nclear.” He hesitated a moment. “My lord, I want no trouble.”\n\n“None of us wants trouble, but I fear these are troubled times, Master Mott,” Ned said.\n“You know who the boy is.”\n\n“I am only an armorer, my lord. I know what I’m told.”\n"
## [263] "“You know who the boy is,” Ned repeated patiently. “That is not a question.”\n\n“The boy is my apprentice,” the master said. He looked Ned in the eye, stubborn as old\niron. “Who he was before he came to me, that’s none of my concern.”\n\nNed nodded. He decided that he liked Tobho Mott, master armorer. “If the day ever\ncomes when Gendry would rather wield a sword than forge one, send him to me. He has\nthe look of a warrior. Until then, you have my thanks, Master Mott, and my promise.\nShould I ever want a helm to frighten children, this will be the first place I visit.”\n\nHis guard was waiting outside with the horses. “Did you find anything, my lord?” Jacks\nasked as Ned mounted up.\n\n“I did,” Ned told him, wondering. What had Jon Arryn wanted with a king’s bastard, and\nwhy was it worth his life?\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [264] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n CATELYN\nMy lady, you ought cover your head,” Ser Rodrik told her as their horses plodded north.\n“You will take a chill.”\n\n“It is only water, Ser Rodrik,” Catelyn replied. Her hair hung wet and heavy, a loose\nstrand stuck to her forehead, and she could imagine how ragged and wild she must look,\nbut for once she did not care. The southern rain was soft and warm. Catelyn liked the\nfeel of it on her face, gentle as a mother’s kisses. It took her back to her childhood, to\nlong grey days at Riverrun. She remembered the godswood, drooping branches heavy\nwith moisture, and the sound of her brother’s laughter as he chased her through piles of\ndamp leaves. She remembered making mud pies with Lysa, the weight of them, the mud\nslick and brown between her fingers. They had served them to Littlefinger, giggling, and\nhe’d eaten so much mud he was sick for a week. How young they all had been.\n\nCatelyn had almost forgotten. In the north, the rain fell cold and hard, and sometimes at\nnight it turned to ice. It was as likely to kill a crop as nurture it, and it sent grown men\nrunning for the nearest shelter. That was no rain for little girls to play in.\n\n“I am soaked through,” Ser Rodrik complained. “Even my bones are wet.” The woods\npressed close around them, and the steady pattering of rain on leaves was accompanied\nby the small sucking sounds their horses made as their hooves pulled free of the mud.\n“We will want a fire tonight, my lady, and a hot meal would serve us both.”\n\n“There is an inn at the crossroads up ahead,” Catelyn told him. She had slept many a\nnight there in her youth, traveling with her father. Lord Hoster Tully had been a restless\nman in his prime, always riding somewhere. She still remembered the innkeep, a fat\nwoman named Masha Heddle who chewed sourleaf night and day and seemed to have\nan endless supply of smiles and sweet cakes for the children. The sweet cakes had been\nsoaked with honey, rich and heavy on the tongue, but how Catelyn had dreaded those\nsmiles. The sourleaf had stained Masha’s teeth a dark red, and made her smile a bloody\nhorror.\n\n“An inn,” Ser Rodrik repeated wistfully. “If only . . . but we dare not risk it. If we wish to\nremain unknown, I think it best we seek out some small holdfast . . . ” He broke off as\nthey heard sounds up the road; splashing water, the clink of mail, a horse’s whinny.\n“Riders,” he warned, his hand dropping to the hilt of his sword. Even on the kingsroad, it\n"
## [265] "never hurt to be wary.\n\nThey followed the sounds around a lazy bend of the road and saw them; a column of\narmed men noisily fording a swollen stream. Catelyn reined up to let them pass. The\nbanner in the hand of the foremost rider hung sodden and limp, but the guardsmen\nwore indigo cloaks and on their shoulders flew the silver eagle of Seagard. “Mallisters,”\nSer Rodrik whispered to her, as if she had not known. “My lady, best pull up your hood.”\n\nCatelyn made no move. Lord Jason Mallister himself rode with them, surrounded by his\nknights, his son Patrek by his side and their squires close behind. They were riding for\nKing’s Landing and the Hand’s tourney, she knew. For the past week, the travelers had\nbeen thick as flies upon the kingsroad; knights and freeriders, singers with their harps\nand drums, heavy wagons laden with hops or corn or casks of honey, traders and\ncraftsmen and whores, and all of them moving south.\n\nShe studied Lord Jason boldly. The last time she had seen him he had been jesting with\nher uncle at her wedding feast; the Mallisters stood bannermen to the Tullys, and his\ngifts had been lavish. His brown hair was salted with white now, his face chiseled gaunt\nby time, yet the years had not touched his pride. He rode like a man who feared nothing.\nCatelyn envied him that; she had come to fear so much. As the riders passed, Lord Jason\nnodded a curt greeting, but it was only a high lord’s courtesy to strangers chance met on\nthe road. There was no recognition in those fierce eyes, and his son did not even waste a\nlook.\n\n“He did not know you,” Ser Rodrik said after, wondering.\n\n“He saw a pair of mud-spattered travelers by the side of the road, wet and tired. It would\nnever occur to him to suspect that one of them was the daughter of his liege lord. I think\nwe shall be safe enough at the inn, Ser Rodrik.”\n\nIt was near dark when they reached it, at the crossroads north of the great confluence of\nthe Trident. Masha Heddle was fatter and greyer than Catelyn remembered, still\nchewing her sourleaf, but she gave them only the most cursory of looks, with nary a hint\nof her ghastly red smile. “Two rooms at the top of the stair, that’s all there is,” she said,\nchewing all the while. “They’re under the bell tower, you won’t be missing meals, though\nthere’s some thinks it too noisy. Can’t be helped. We’re full up, or near as makes no\nmatter. It’s those rooms or the road.”\n\nIt was those rooms, low, dusty garrets at the top of a cramped narrow staircase. “Leave\nyour boots down here,” Masha told them after she’d taken their coin. “The boy will clean\nthem. I won’t have you tracking mud up my stairs. Mind the bell. Those who come late to\nmeals don’t eat.” There were no smiles, and no mention of sweet cakes.\n"
## [266] "When the supper bell rang, the sound was deafening. Catelyn had changed into dry\nclothes. She sat by the window, watching rain run down the pane. The glass was milky\nand full of bubbles, and a wet dusk was falling outside. Catelyn could just make out the\nmuddy crossing where the two great roads met.\n\nThe crossroads gave her pause. If they turned west from here, it was an easy ride down\nto Riverrun. Her father had always given her wise counsel when she needed it most, and\nshe yearned to talk to him, to warn him of the gathering storm. If Winterfell needed to\nbrace for war, how much more so Riverrun, so much closer to King’s Landing, with the\npower of Casterly Rock looming to the west like a shadow. If only her father had been\nstronger, she might have chanced it, but Hoster Tully had been bedridden these past two\nyears, and Catelyn was loath to tax him now.\n\nThe eastern road was wilder and more dangerous, climbing through rocky foothills and\nthick forests into the Mountains of the Moon, past high passes and deep chasms to the\nVale of Arryn and the stony Fingers beyond. Above the Vale, the Eyrie stood high and\nimpregnable, its towers reaching for the sky. There she would find her sister . . . and,\nperhaps, some of the answers Ned sought. Surely Lysa knew more than she had dared to\nput in her letter. She might have the very proof that Ned needed to bring the Lannisters\nto ruin, and if it came to war, they would need the Arryns and the eastern lords who\nowed them service.\n\nYet the mountain road was perilous. Shadowcats prowled those passes, rock slides were\ncommon, and the mountain clans were lawless brigands, descending from the heights to\nrob and kill and melting away like snow whenever the knights rode out from the Vale in\nsearch of them. Even Jon Arryn, as great a lord as any the Eyrie had ever known, had\nalways traveled in strength when he crossed the mountains. Catelyn’s only strength was\none elderly knight, armored in loyalty.\n\nNo, she thought, Riverrun and the Eyrie would have to wait. Her path ran north to\nWinterfell, where her sons and her duty were waiting for her. As soon as they were safely\npast the Neck, she could declare herself to one of Ned’s bannermen, and send riders\nracing ahead with orders to mount a watch on the kingsroad.\n\nThe rain obscured the fields beyond the crossroads, but Catelyn saw the land clear\nenough in her memory. The marketplace was just across the way, and the village a mile\nfarther on, half a hundred white cottages surrounding a small stone sept. There would be\nmore now; the summer had been long and peaceful. North of here the kingsroad ran\nalong the Green Fork of the Trident, through fertile valleys and green woodlands, past\nthriving towns and stout holdfasts and the castles of the river lords.\n\nCatelyn knew them all: the Blackwoods and the Brackens, ever enemies, whose quarrels\n"
## [267] "her father was obliged to settle; Lady Whent, last of her line, who dwelt with her ghosts\nin the cavernous vaults of Harrenhal; irascible Lord Frey, who had outlived seven wives\nand filled his twin castles with children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, and\nbastards and grandbastards as well. All of them were bannermen to the Tullys, their\nswords sworn to the service of Riverrun. Catelyn wondered if that would be enough, if it\ncame to war. Her father was the staunchest man who’d ever lived, and she had no doubt\nthat he would call his banners . . . but would the banners come? The Darrys and Rygers\nand Mootons had sworn oaths to Riverrun as well, yet they had fought with Rhaegar\nTargaryen on the Trident, while Lord Frey had arrived with his levies well after the\nbattle was over, leaving some doubt as to which army he had planned to join (theirs, he\nhad assured the victors solemnly in the aftermath, but ever after her father had called\nhim the Late Lord Frey). It must not come to war, Catelyn thought fervently. They must\nnot let it.\n\nSer Rodrik came for her just as the bell ceased its clangor. “We had best make haste if we\nhope to eat tonight, my lady.”\n\n“It might be safer if we were not knight and lady until we pass the Neck,” she told him.\n“Common travelers attract less notice. A father and daughter taken to the road on some\nfamily business, say.”\n\n“As you say, my lady,” Ser Rodrik agreed. It was only when she laughed that he realized\nwhat he’d done. “The old courtesies die hard, my—my daughter.” He tried to tug on his\nmissing whiskers, and sighed with exasperation.\n\nCatelyn took his arm. “Come, Father,” she said. “You’ll find that Masha Heddle sets a\ngood table, I think, but try not to praise her. You truly don’t want to see her smile.”\n\nThe common room was long and drafty, with a row of huge wooden kegs at one end and\na fireplace at the other. A serving boy ran back and forth with skewers of meat while\nMasha drew beer from the kegs, chewing her sourleaf all the while.\n\nThe benches were crowded, townsfolk and farmers mingling freely with all manner of\ntravelers. The crossroads made for odd companions; dyers with black and purple hands\nshared a bench with rivermen reeking of fish, an ironsmith thick with muscle squeezed\nin beside a wizened old septon, hard-bitten sellswords and soft plump merchants\nswapped news like boon companions.\n\nThe company included more swords than Catelyn would have liked. Three by the fire\nwore the red stallion badge of the Brackens, and there was a large party in blue steel\nringmail and capes of a silvery grey. On their shoulder was another familiar sigil, the\ntwin towers of House Frey. She studied their faces, but they were all too young to have\n"
## [268] "known her. The senior among them would have been no older than Bran when she went\nnorth.\n\nSer Rodrik found them an empty place on the bench near the kitchen. Across the table a\nhandsome youth was fingering a woodharp. “Seven blessings to you, goodfolk,” he said\nas they sat. An empty wine cup stood on the table before him.\n\n“And to you, singer,” Catelyn returned. Ser Rodrik called for bread and meat and beer in\na tone that meant now. The singer, a youth of some eighteen years, eyed them boldly\nand asked where they were going, and from whence they had come, and what news they\nhad, letting the questions fly as quick as arrows and never pausing for an answer. “We\nleft King’s Landing a fortnight ago,” Catelyn replied, answering the safest of his\nquestions.\n\n“That’s where I’m bound,” the youth said. As she had suspected, he was more interested\nin telling his own story than in hearing theirs. Singers loved nothing half so well as the\nsound of their own voices. “The Hand’s tourney means rich lords with fat purses. The\nlast time I came away with more silver than I could carry . . . or would have, if I hadn’t\nlost it all betting on the Kingslayer to win the day.”\n\n“The gods frown on the gambler,” Ser Rodrik said sternly. He was of the north, and\nshared the Stark views on tournaments.\n\n“They frowned on me, for certain,” the singer said. “Your cruel gods and the Knight of\nFlowers altogether did me in.”\n\n“No doubt that was a lesson for you,” Ser Rodrik said.\n\n“It was. This time my coin will champion Ser Loras.”\n\nSer Rodrik tried to tug at whiskers that were not there, but before he could frame a\nrebuke the serving boy came scurrying up. He laid trenchers of bread before them and\nfilled them with chunks of browned meat off a skewer, dripping with hot juice. Another\nskewer held tiny onions, fire peppers, and fat mushrooms. Ser Rodrik set to lustily as the\nlad ran back to fetch them beer.\n\n“My name is Marillion,” the singer said, plucking a string on his woodharp. “Doubtless\nyou’ve heard me play somewhere?”\n\nHis manner made Catelyn smile. Few wandering singers ever ventured as far north as\nWinterfell, but she knew his like from her girlhood in Riverrun. “I fear not,” she told him.\n"
## [269] "He drew a plaintive chord from the woodharp. “That is your loss,” he said. “Who was the\nfinest singer you’ve ever heard?”\n\n“Alia of Braavos,” Ser Rodrik answered at once.\n\n“Oh, I’m much better than that old stick,” Marillion said. “If you have the silver for a\nsong, I’ll gladly show you.”\n\n“I might have a copper or two, but I’d sooner toss it down a well than pay for your\nhowling,” Ser Rodrik groused. His opinion of singers was well known; music was a lovely\nthing for girls, but he could not comprehend why any healthy boy would fill his hand\nwith a harp when he might have had a sword.\n\n“Your grandfather has a sour nature,” Marillion said to Catelyn. “I meant to do you\nhonor. An homage to your beauty. In truth, I was made to sing for kings and high lords.”\n\n“Oh, I can see that,” Catelyn said. “Lord Tully is fond of song, I hear. No doubt you’ve\nbeen to Riverrun.”\n\n“A hundred times,” the singer said airily. “They keep a chamber for me, and the young\nlord is like a brother.”\n\nCatelyn smiled, wondering what Edmure would think of that. Another singer had once\nbedded a girl her brother fancied; he had hated the breed ever since. “And Winterfell?”\nshe asked him. “Have you traveled north?”\n\n“Why would I?’ Marillion asked. “It’s all blizzards and bearskins up there, and the Starks\nknow no music but the howling of wolves.” Distantly, she was aware of the door banging\nopen at the far end of the room.\n\n“Innkeep,” a servant’s voice called out behind her, “we have horses that want stabling,\nand my lord of Lannister requires a room and a hot bath.”\n\n“Oh, gods,” Ser Rodrik said before Catelyn reached out to silence him, her fingers\ntightening hard around his forearm.\n\nMasha Heddle was bowing and smiling her hideous red smile. “I’m sorry, m’lord, truly,\nwe’re full up, every room.”\n\nThere were four of them, Catelyn saw. An old man in the black of the Night’s Watch, two\nservants . . . and him, standing there small and bold as life. “My men will steep in your\nstable, and as for myself, well, I do not require a large room, as you can plainly see.” He\n"
## [270] "flashed a mocking grin. “So long as the fire’s warm and the straw reasonably free of fleas,\nI am a happy man.”\n\nMasha Heddle was beside herself. “M’lord, there’s nothing, it’s the tourney, there’s no\nhelp for it, oh . . . ”\n\nTyrion Lannister pulled a coin from his purse and flicked it up over his head, caught it,\ntossed it again. Even across the room, where Catelyn sat, the wink of gold was\nunmistakable.\n\nA freerider in a faded blue cloak lurched to his feet. “You’re welcome to my room,\nm’lord.”\n\n“Now there’s a clever man,” Lannister said as he sent the coin spinning across the room.\nThe freerider snatched it from the air. “And a nimble one to boot.” The dwarf turned\nback to Masha Heddle. “You will be able to manage food, I trust?”\n\n“Anything you like, m’lord, anything at all,” the innkeep promised. And may he choke on\nit, Catelyn thought, but it was Bran she saw choking, drowning on his own blood.\n\nLannister glanced at the nearest tables. “My men will have whatever you’re serving these\npeople. Double portions, we’ve had a long hard ride. I’ll take a roast fowl—chicken, duck,\npigeon, it makes no matter. And send up a flagon of your best wine. Yoren, will you sup\nwith me?”\n\n“Aye, m’lord, I will,” the black brother replied.\n\nThe dwarf had not so much as glanced toward the far end of the room, and Catelyn was\nthinking how grateful she was for the crowded benches between them when suddenly\nMarillion bounded to his feet. “My lord of Lannister!” he called out. “I would be pleased\nto entertain you while you eat. Let me sing you the lay of your father’s great victory at\nKing’s Landing!”\n\n“Nothing would be more likely to ruin my supper,” the dwarf said dryly. His mismatched\neyes considered the singer briefly, started to move away . . . and found Catelyn. He\nlooked at her for a moment, puzzled. She turned her face away, but too late. The dwarf\nwas smiling. “Lady Stark, what an unexpected pleasure,” he said. “I was sorry to miss\nyou at Winterfell.”\n\nMarillion gaped at her, confusion giving way to chagrin as Catelyn rose slowly to her\nfeet. She heard Ser Rodrik curse. If only the man had lingered at the Wall, she thought, if\nonly . . .\n"
## [271] "“Lady . . . Stark?” Masha Heddle said thickly.\n\n“I was still Catelyn Tully the last time I bedded here,” she told the innkeep. She could\nhear the muttering, feel the eyes upon her. Catelyn glanced around the room, at the faces\nof the knights and sworn swords, and took a deep breath to slow the frantic beating of\nher heart. Did she dare take the risk? There was no time to think it through, only the\nmoment and the sound of her own voice ringing in her ears. “You in the corner,” she said\nto an older man she had not noticed until now. “Is that the black bat of Harrenhal I see\nembroidered on your surcoat, ser?”\n\nThe man got to his feet. “It is, my lady.”\n\n“And is Lady Whent a true and honest friend to my father, Lord Hoster Tully of\nRiverrun?”\n\n“She is,” the man replied stoutly.\n\nSer Rodrik rose quietly and loosened his sword in its scabbard. The dwarf was blinking\nat them, blank-faced, with puzzlement in his mismatched eyes.\n\n“The red stallion was ever a welcome sight in Riverrun,” she said to the trio by the fire.\n“My father counts Jonos Bracken among his oldest and most loyal bannermen.”\n\nThe three men-at-arms exchanged uncertain looks. “Our lord is honored by his trust,”\none of them said hesitantly.\n\n“I envy your father all these fine friends,” Lannister quipped, “but I do not quite see the\npurpose of this, Lady Stark.”\n\nShe ignored him, turning to the large party in blue and grey. They were the heart of the\nmatter; there were more than twenty of them. “I know your sigil as well: the twin towers\nof Frey. How fares your good lord, sers?”\n\nTheir captain rose. “Lord Walder is well, my lady. He plans to take a new wife on his\nninetieth name day, and has asked your lord father to honor the wedding with his\npresence.”\n\nTyrion Lannister sniggered. That was when Catelyn knew he was hers. “This man came a\nguest into my house, and there conspired to murder my son, a boy of seven,” she\nproclaimed to the room at large, pointing. Ser Rodrik moved to her side, his sword in\nhand. “In the name of King Robert and the good lords you serve, I call upon you to seize\n"
## [272] "him and help me return him to Winterfell to await the king’s justice.”\n\nShe did not know what was more satisfying: the sound of a dozen swords drawn as one\nor the look on Tyrion Lannister’s face.\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [273] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n SANSA\nSansa rode to the Hand’s tourney with Septa Mordane and Jeyne Poole, in a litter with\ncurtains of yellow silk so fine she could see right through them. They turned the whole\nworld gold. Beyond the city walls, a hundred pavilions had been raised beside the river,\nand the common folk came out in the thousands to watch the games. The splendor of it\nall took Sansa’s breath away; the shining armor, the great chargers caparisoned in silver\nand gold, the shouts of the crowd, the banners snapping in the wind . . . and the knights\nthemselves, the knights most of all.\n\n“It is better than the songs,” she whispered when they found the places that her father\nhad promised her, among the high lords and ladies. Sansa was dressed beautifully that\nday, in a green gown that brought out the auburn of her hair, and she knew they were\nlooking at her and smiling.\n\nThey watched the heroes of a hundred songs ride forth, each more fabulous than the last.\nThe seven knights of the Kingsguard took the field, all but Jaime Lannister in scaled\narmor the color of milk, their cloaks as white as freshfallen snow. Ser Jaime wore the\nwhite cloak as well, but beneath it he was shining gold from head to foot, with a lion’s-\nhead helm and a golden sword. Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain That Rides,\nthundered past them like an avalanche. Sansa remembered Lord Yohn Royce, who had\nguested at Winterfell two years before. “His armor is bronze, thousands and thousands\nof years old, engraved with magic runes that ward him against harm,” she whispered to\nJeyne. Septa Mordane pointed out Lord Jason Mallister, in indigo chased with silver, the\nwings of an eagle on his helm. He had cut down three of Rhaegar’s bannermen on the\nTrident. The girls giggled over the warrior priest Thoros of Myr, with his flapping red\nrobes and shaven head, until the septa told them that he had once scaled the walls of\nPyke with a flaming sword in hand.\n\nOther riders Sansa did not know; hedge knights from the Fingers and Highgarden and\nthe mountains of Dorne, unsung freeriders and new-made squires, the younger sons of\nhigh lords and the heirs of lesser houses. Younger men, most had done no great deeds as\nyet, but Sansa and Jeyne agreed that one day the Seven Kingdoms would resound to the\nsound of their names. Ser Balon Swann. Lord Bryce Caron of the Marches. Bronze\nYohn’s heir, Ser Andar Royce, and his younger brother Ser Robar, their silvered steel\nplate filigreed in bronze with the same ancient runes that warded their father. The twins\nSer Horas and Ser Hobber, whose shields displayed the grape cluster sigil of the\nRedwynes, burgundy on blue. Patrek Mallister, Lord Jason’s son. Six Freys of the\n"
## [274] "Crossing: Ser Jared, Ser Hosteen, Ser Danwell, Ser Emmon, Ser Theo, Ser Perwyn, sons\nand grandsons of old Lord Walder Frey, and his bastard son Martyn Rivers as well.\n\nJeyne Poole confessed herself frightened by the look of Jalabhar Xho, an exile prince\nfrom the Summer Isles who wore a cape of green and scarlet feathers over skin as dark\nas night, but when she saw young Lord Beric Dondarrion, with his hair like red gold and\nhis black shield slashed by lightning, she pronounced herself willing to marry him on the\ninstant.\n\nThe Hound entered the lists as well, and so too the king’s brother, handsome Lord Renly\nof Storm’s End. Jory, Alyn, and Harwin rode for Winterfell and the north. “Jory looks a\nbeggar among these others,” Septa Mordane sniffed when he appeared. Sansa could only\nagree. Jory’s armor was blue-grey plate without device or ornament, and a thin grey\ncloak hung from his shoulders like a soiled rag. Yet he acquitted himself well, unhorsing\nHoras Redwyne in his first joust and one of the Freys in his second. In his third match,\nhe rode three passes at a freerider named Lothor Brune whose armor was as drab as his\nown. Neither man lost his seat, but Brune’s lance was steadier and his blows better\nplaced, and the king gave him the victory. Alyn and Harwin fared less well; Harwin was\nunhorsed in his first tilt by Ser Meryn of the Kingsguard, while Alyn fell to Ser Balon\nSwann.\n\nThe jousting went all day and into the dusk, the hooves of the great warhorses pounding\ndown the lists until the field was a ragged wasteland of torn earth. A dozen times Jeyne\nand Sansa cried out in unison as riders crashed together, lances exploding into splinters\nwhile the commons screamed for their favorites. Jeyne covered her eyes whenever a man\nfell, like a frightened little girl, but Sansa was made of sterner stuff. A great lady knew\nhow to behave at tournaments. Even Septa Mordane noted her composure and nodded\nin approval.\n\nThe Kingslayer rode brilliantly. He overthrew Ser Andar Royce and the Marcher Lord\nBryce Caron as easily as if he were riding at rings, and then took a hard-fought match\nfrom white-haired Barristan Selmy, who had won his first two tilts against men thirty\nand forty years his junior.\n\nSandor Clegane and his immense brother, Ser Gregor the Mountain, seemed\nunstoppable as well, riding down one foe after the next in ferocious style. The most\nterrifying moment of the day came during Ser Gregor’s second joust, when his lance\nrode up and struck a young knight from the Vale under the gorget with such force that it\ndrove through his throat, killing him instantly. The youth fell not ten feet from where\nSansa was seated. The point of Ser Gregor’s lance had snapped off in his neck, and his\nlife’s blood flowed out in slow pulses, each weaker than the one before. His armor was\nshiny new; a bright streak of fire ran down his outstretched arm, as the steel caught the\n"
## [275] "light. Then the sun went behind a cloud, and it was gone. His cloak was blue, the color of\nthe sky on a clear summer’s day, trimmed with a border of crescent moons, but as his\nblood seeped into it, the cloth darkened and the moons turned red, one by one.\n\nJeyne Poole wept so hysterically that Septa Mordane finally took her off to regain her\ncomposure, but Sansa sat with her hands folded in her lap, watching with a strange\nfascination. She had never seen a man die before. She ought to be crying too, she\nthought, but the tears would not come. Perhaps she had used up all her tears for Lady\nand Bran. It would be different if it had been Jory or Ser Rodrik or Father, she told\nherself. The young knight in the blue cloak was nothing to her, some stranger from the\nVale of Arryn whose name she had forgotten as soon as she heard it. And now the world\nwould forget his name too, Sansa realized; there would be no songs sung for him. That\nwas sad.\n\nAfter they carried off the body, a boy with a spade ran onto the field and shoveled dirt\nover the spot where he had fallen, to cover up the blood. Then the jousts resumed.\n\nSer Balon Swann also fell to Gregor, and Lord Renly to the Hound. Renly was unhorsed\nso violently that he seemed to fly backward off his charger, legs in the air. His head hit\nthe ground with an audible crack that made the crowd gasp, but it was just the golden\nantler on his helm. One of the tines had snapped off beneath him. When Lord Renly\nclimbed to his feet, the commons cheered wildly, for King Robert’s handsome young\nbrother was a great favorite. He handed the broken tine to his conqueror with a gracious\nbow. The Hound snorted and tossed the broken antler into the crowd, where the\ncommons began to punch and claw over the little bit of gold, until Lord Renly walked out\namong them and restored the peace. By then Septa Mordane had returned, alone. Jeyne\nhad been feeling ill, she explained; she had helped her back to the castle. Sansa had\nalmost forgotten about Jeyne.\n\nLater a hedge knight in a checkered cloak disgraced himself by killing Beric\nDondarrion’s horse, and was declared forfeit. Lord Beric shifted his saddle to a new\nmount, only to be knocked right off it by Thoros of Myr. Ser Aron Santagar and Lothor\nBrune tilted thrice without result; Ser Aron fell afterward to Lord Jason Mallister, and\nBrune to Yohn Royce’s younger son, Robar.\n\nIn the end it came down to four; the Hound and his monstrous brother Gregor, Jaime\nLannister the Kingslayer, and Ser Loras Tyrell, the youth they called the Knight of\nFlowers.\n\nSer Loras was the youngest son of Mace Tyrell, the Lord of Highgarden and Warden of\nthe South. At sixteen, he was the youngest rider on the field, yet he had unhorsed three\nknights of the Kingsguard that morning in his first three jousts. Sansa had never seen\n"
## [276] "anyone so beautiful. His plate was intricately fashioned and enameled as a bouquet of a\nthousand different flowers, and his snow-white stallion was draped in a blanket of red\nand white roses. After each victory, Ser Loras would remove his helm and ride slowly\nround the fence, and finally pluck a single white rose from the blanket and toss it to\nsome fair maiden in the crowd.\n\nHis last match of the day was against the younger Royce. Ser Robar’s ancestral runes\nproved small protection as Ser Loras split his shield and drove him from his saddle to\ncrash with an awful clangor in the dirt. Robar lay moaning as the victor made his circuit\nof the field. Finally they called for a litter and carried him off to his tent, dazed and\nunmoving. Sansa never saw it. Her eyes were only for Ser Loras. When the white horse\nstopped in front of her, she thought her heart would burst.\n\nTo the other maidens he had given white roses, but the one he plucked for her was red.\n“Sweet lady,” he said, “no victory is half so beautiful as you.” Sansa took the flower\ntimidly, struck dumb by his gallantry. His hair was a mass of lazy brown curls, his eyes\nlike liquid gold. She inhaled the sweet fragrance of the rose and sat clutching it long after\nSer Loras had ridden off.\n\nWhen Sansa finally looked up, a man was standing over her, staring. He was short, with\na pointed beard and a silver streak in his hair, almost as old as her father. “You must be\none of her daughters,” he said to her. He had grey-green eyes that did not smile when his\nmouth did. “You have the Tully look.”\n\n“I’m Sansa Stark,” she said, ill at ease. The man wore a heavy cloak with a fur collar,\nfastened with a silver mockingbird, and he had the effortless manner of a high lord, but\nshe did not know him. “I have not had the honor, my lord.”\n\nSepta Mordane quickly took a hand. “Sweet child, this is Lord Petyr Baelish, of the king’s\nsmall council.”\n\n“Your mother was my queen of beauty once,” the man said quietly. His breath smelled of\nmint. “You have her hair.” His fingers brushed against her cheek as he stroked one\nauburn lock. Quite abruptly he turned and walked away.\n\nBy then, the moon was well up and the crowd was tired, so the king decreed that the last\nthree matches would be fought the next morning, before the melee. While the commons\nbegan their walk home, talking of the day’s jousts and the matches to come on the\nmorrow, the court moved to the riverside to begin the feast. Six monstrous huge aurochs\nhad been roasting for hours, turning slowly on wooden spits while kitchen boys basted\nthem with butter and herbs until the meat crackled and spit. Tables and benches had\nbeen raised outside the pavilions, piled high with sweetgrass and strawberries and fresh-\n"
## [277] "baked bread.\n\nSansa and Septa Mordane were given places of high honor, to the left of the raised dais\nwhere the king himself sat beside his queen. When Prince Joffrey seated himself to her\nright, she felt her throat tighten. He had not spoken a word to her since the awful thing\nhad happened, and she had not dared to speak to him. At first she thought she hated him\nfor what they’d done to Lady, but after Sansa had wept her eyes dry, she told herself that\nit had not been Joffrey’s doing, not truly. The queen had done it; she was the one to hate,\nher and Arya. Nothing bad would have happened except for Arya.\n\nShe could not hate Joffrey tonight. He was too beautiful to hate. He wore a deep blue\ndoublet studded with a double row of golden lion’s heads, and around his brow a slim\ncoronet made of gold and sapphires. His hair was as bright as the metal. Sansa looked at\nhim and trembled, afraid that he might ignore her or, worse, turn hateful again and send\nher weeping from the table.\n\nInstead Joffrey smiled and kissed her hand, handsome and gallant as any prince in the\nsongs, and said, “Ser Loras has a keen eye for beauty, sweet lady.”\n\n“He was too kind,” she demurred, trying to remain modest and calm, though her heart\nwas singing. “Ser Loras is a true knight. Do you think he will win tomorrow, my lord?”\n\n“No,” Joffrey said. “My dog will do for him, or perhaps my uncle Jaime. And in a few\nyears, when I am old enough to enter the lists, I shall do for them all.” He raised his\nhand to summon a servant with a flagon of iced summerwine, and poured her a cup. She\nlooked anxiously at Septa Mordane, until Joffrey leaned over and filled the septa’s cup as\nwell, so she nodded and thanked him graciously and said not another word.\n\nThe servants kept the cups filled all night, yet afterward Sansa could not recall ever\ntasting the wine. She needed no wine. She was drunk on the magic of the night, giddy\nwith glamour, swept away by beauties she had dreamt of all her life and never dared\nhope to know. Singers sat before the king’s pavilion, filling the dusk with music. A\njuggler kept a cascade of burning clubs spinning through the air. The king’s own fool, the\npie-faced simpleton called Moon Boy, danced about on stilts, all in motley, making mock\nof everyone with such deft cruelty that Sansa wondered if he was simple after all. Even\nSepta Mordane was helpless before him; when he sang his little song about the High\nSepton, she laughed so hard she spilled wine on herself.\n\nAnd Joffrey was the soul of courtesy. He talked to Sansa all night, showering her with\ncompliments, making her laugh, sharing little bits of court gossip, explaining Moon\nBoy’s japes. Sansa was so captivated that she quite forgot all her courtesies and ignored\nSepta Mordane, seated to her left.\n"
## [278] "All the while the courses came and went. A thick soup of barley and venison. Salads of\nsweetgrass and spinach and plums, sprinkled with crushed nuts. Snails in honey and\ngarlic. Sansa had never eaten snails before; Joffrey showed her how to get the snail out\nof the shell, and fed her the first sweet morsel himself. Then came trout fresh from the\nriver, baked in clay; her prince helped her crack open the hard casing to expose the flaky\nwhite flesh within. And when the meat course was brought out, he served her himself,\nslicing a queen’s portion from the joint, smiling as he laid it on her plate. She could see\nfrom the way he moved that his right arm was still troubling him, yet he uttered not a\nword of complaint.\n\nLater came sweetbreads and pigeon pie and baked apples fragrant with cinnamon and\nlemon cakes frosted in sugar, but by then Sansa was so stuffed that she could not\nmanage more than two little lemon cakes, as much as she loved them. She was\nwondering whether she might attempt a third when the king began to shout.\n\nKing Robert had grown louder with each course. From time to time Sansa could hear\nhim laughing or roaring a command over the music and the clangor of plates and\ncutlery, but they were too far away for her to make out his words.\n\nNow everybody heard him. “No,” he thundered in a voice that drowned out all other\nspeech. Sansa was shocked to see the king on his feet, red of face, reeling. He had a\ngoblet of wine in one hand, and he was drunk as a man could be. “You do not tell me\nwhat to do, woman,” he screamed at Queen Cersei. “I am king here, do you understand?\nI rule here, and if I say that I will fight tomorrow, I will fight!”\n\nEveryone was staring. Sansa saw Ser Barristan, and the king’s brother Renly, and the\nshort man who had talked to her so oddly and touched her hair, but no one made a move\nto interfere. The queen’s face was a mask, so bloodless that it might have been sculpted\nfrom snow. She rose from the table, gathered her skirts around her, and stormed off in\nsilence, servants trailing behind.\n\nJaime Lannister put a hand on the king’s shoulder, but the king shoved him away hard.\nLannister stumbled and fell. The king guffawed. “The great knight. I can still knock you\nin the dirt. Remember that, Kingslayer.” He slapped his chest with the jeweled goblet,\nsplashing wine all over his satin tunic. “Give me my hammer and not a man in the realm\ncan stand before me!”\n\nJaime Lannister rose and brushed himself off. “As you say, Your Grace.” His voice was\nstiff.\n\nLord Renly came forward, smiling. “You’ve spilled your wine, Robert. Let me bring you a\nfresh goblet.”\n"
## [279] "Sansa started as Joffrey laid his hand on her arm. “It grows late,” the prince said. He had\na queer look on his face, as if he were not seeing her at all. “Do you need an escort back\nto the castle?”\n\n“No,” Sansa began. She looked for Septa Mordane, and was startled to find her with her\nhead on the table, snoring soft and ladylike snores. “I mean to say . . . yes, thank you,\nthat would be most kind. I am tired, and the way is so dark. I should be glad for some\nprotection.”\n\nJoffrey called out, “Dog!”\n\nSandor Clegane seemed to take form out of the night, so quickly did he appear. He had\nexchanged his armor for a red woolen tunic with a leather dog’s head sewn on the front.\nThe light of the torches made his burned face shine a dull red. “Yes, Your Grace?” he said.\n\n“Take my betrothed back to the castle, and see that no harm befalls her,” the prince told\nhim brusquely. And without even a word of farewell, Joffrey strode off, leaving her there.\n\nSansa could feel the Hound watching her. “Did you think Joff was going to take you\nhimself?” He laughed. He had a laugh like the snarling of dogs in a pit. “Small chance of\nthat.” He pulled her unresisting to her feet. “Come, you’re not the only one needs sleep.\nI’ve drunk too much, and I may need to kill my brother tomorrow.” He laughed again.\n\nSuddenly terrified, Sansa pushed at Septa Mordane’s shoulder, hoping to wake her, but\nshe only snored the louder. King Robert had stumbled off and half the benches were\nsuddenly empty. The feast was over, and the beautiful dream had ended with it.\n\nThe Hound snatched up a torch to light their way. Sansa followed close beside him. The\nground was rocky and uneven; the flickering light made it seem to shift and move\nbeneath her. She kept her eyes lowered, watching where she placed her feet. They\nwalked among the pavilions, each with its banner and its armor hung outside, the silence\nweighing heavier with every step. Sansa could not bear the sight of him, he frightened\nher so, yet she had been raised in all the ways of courtesy. A true lady would not notice\nhis face, she told herself. “You rode gallantly today, Ser Sandor,” she made herself say.\n\nSandor Clegane snarled at her. “Spare me your empty little compliments, girl . . . and\nyour ser’s. I am no knight. I spit on them and their vows. My brother is a knight. Did you\nsee him ride today?”\n\n“Yes,” Sansa whispered, trembling. “He was . . .\n"
## [280] "“Gallant?” the Hound finished.\n\nHe was mocking her, she realized. “No one could withstand him,” she managed at last,\nproud of herself. It was no lie.\n\nSandor Clegane stopped suddenly in the middle of a dark and empty field. She had no\nchoice but to stop beside him. “Some septa trained you well. You’re like one of those\nbirds from the Summer Isles, aren’t you? A pretty little talking bird, repeating all the\npretty little words they taught you to recite.”\n\n“That’s unkind.” Sansa could feel her heart fluttering in her chest. “You’re frightening\nme. I want to go now.”\n\n“No one could withstand him,” the Hound rasped. “That’s truth enough. No one could\never withstand Gregor. That boy today, his second joust, oh, that was a pretty bit of\nbusiness. You saw that, did you? Fool boy, he had no business riding in this company.\nNo money, no squire, no one to help him with that armor. That gorget wasn’t fastened\nproper. You think Gregor didn’t notice that? You think Ser Gregor’s lance rode up by\nchance, do you? Pretty little talking girl, you believe that, you’re empty-headed as a bird\nfor true. Gregor’s lance goes where Gregor wants it to go. Look at me. Look at me!”\nSandor Clegane put a huge hand under her chin and forced her face up. He squatted in\nfront of her, and moved the torch close. “There’s a pretty for you. Take a good long stare.\nYou know you want to. I’ve watched you turning away all the way down the kingsroad.\nPiss on that. Take your look.”\n\nHis fingers held her jaw as hard as an iron trap. His eyes watched hers. Drunken eyes,\nsullen with anger. She had to look.\n\nThe right side of his face was gaunt, with sharp cheekbones and a grey eye beneath a\nheavy brow. His nose was large and hooked, his hair thin, dark. He wore it long and\nbrushed it sideways, because no hair grew on the other side of that face.\n\nThe left side of his face was a ruin. His ear had been burned away; there was nothing left\nbut a hole. His eye was still good, but all around it was a twisted mass of scar, slick black\nflesh hard as leather, pocked with craters and fissured by deep cracks that gleamed red\nand wet when he moved. Down by his jaw, you could see a hint of bone where the flesh\nhad been seared away.\n\nSansa began to cry. He let go of her then, and snuffed out the torch in the dirt. “No\npretty words for that, girl? No little compliment the septa taught you?” When there was\nno answer, he continued. “Most of them, they think it was some battle. A siege, a\nburning tower, an enemy with a torch. One fool asked if it was dragonsbreath.” His laugh\n"
## [281] "was softer this time, but just as bitter. “I’ll tell you what it was, girl,” he said, a voice from\nthe night, a shadow leaning so close now that she could smell the sour stench of wine on\nhis breath. “I was younger than you, six, maybe seven. A woodcarver set up shop in the\nvillage under my father’s keep, and to buy favor he sent us gifts. The old man made\nmarvelous toys. I don’t remember what I got, but it was Gregor’s gift I wanted. A wooden\nknight, all painted up, every joint pegged separate and fixed with strings, so you could\nmake him fight. Gregor is five years older than me, the toy was nothing to him, he was\nalready a squire, near six foot tall and muscled like an ox. So I took his knight, but there\nwas no joy to it, I tell you. I was scared all the while, and true enough, he found me.\nThere was a brazier in the room. Gregor never said a word, just picked me up under his\narm and shoved the side of my face down in the burning coals and held me there while I\nscreamed and screamed. You saw how strong he is. Even then, it took three grown men\nto drag him off me. The septons preach about the seven hells. What do they know? Only\na man who’s been burned knows what hell is truly like.\n\n“My father told everyone my bedding had caught fire, and our maester gave me\nointments. Ointments! Gregor got his ointments too. Four years later, they anointed him\nwith the seven oils and he recited his knightly vows and Rhaegar Targaryen tapped him\non the shoulder and said, ‘Arise, Ser Gregor.’ ”\n\nThe rasping voice trailed off. He squatted silently before her, a hulking black shape\nshrouded in the night, hidden from her eyes. Sansa could hear his ragged breathing. She\nwas sad for him, she realized. Somehow, the fear had gone away.\n\nThe silence went on and on, so long that she began to grow afraid once more, but she\nwas afraid for him now, not for herself. She found his massive shoulder with her hand.\n“He was no true knight,” she whispered to him.\n\nThe Hound threw back his head and roared. Sansa stumbled back, away from him, but\nhe caught her arm. “No,” he growled at her, “no, little bird, he was no true knight.”\n\nThe rest of the way into the city, Sandor Clegane said not a word. He led her to where the\ncarts were waiting, told a driver to take them back to the Red Keep, and climbed in after\nher. They rode in silence through the King’s Gate and up torchlit city streets. He opened\nthe postern door and led her into the castle, his burned face twitching and his eyes\nbrooding, and he was one step behind her as they climbed the tower stairs. He took her\nsafe all the way to the corridor outside her bedchamber.\n\n“Thank you, my lord,” Sansa said meekly.\n\nThe Hound caught her by the arm and leaned close. “The things I told you tonight,” he\nsaid, his voice sounding even rougher than usual. “If you ever tell Joffrey . . . your sister,\n"
## [282] "your father . . . any of them . . . ”\n\n“I won’t,” Sansa whispered. “I promise.”\n\nIt was not enough. “If you ever tell anyone,” he finished, “I’ll kill you.”\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [283] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n EDDARD\nI stood last vigil for him myself,” Ser Barristan Selmy said as they looked down at the\nbody in the back of the cart. “He had no one else. A mother in the Vale, I am told.”\n\nIn the pale dawn light, the young knight looked as though he were sleeping. He had not\nbeen handsome, but death had smoothed his rough-hewn features and the silent sisters\nhad dressed him in his best velvet tunic, with a high collar to cover the ruin the lance\nhad made of his throat. Eddard Stark looked at his face, and wondered if it had been for\nhis sake that the boy had died. Slain by a Lannister bannerman before Ned could speak\nto him; could that be mere happenstance? He supposed he would never know.\n\n“Hugh was Jon Arryn’s squire for four years,” Selmy went on. “The king knighted him\nbefore he rode north, in Jon’s memory. The lad wanted it desperately, yet I fear he was\nnot ready.”\n\nNed had slept badly last night and he felt tired beyond his years. “None of us is ever\nready,” he said.\n\n“For knighthood?”\n\n“For death.” Gently Ned covered the boy with his cloak, a bloodstained bit of blue\nbordered in crescent moons. When his mother asked why her son was dead, he reflected\nbitterly, they would tell her he had fought to honor the King’s Hand, Eddard Stark. “This\nwas needless. War should not be a game.” Ned turned to the woman beside the cart,\nshrouded in grey, face hidden but for her eyes. The silent sisters prepared men for the\ngrave, and it was ill fortune to look on the face of death. “Send his armor home to the\nVale. The mother will want to have it.”\n\n“It is worth a fair piece of silver,” Ser Barristan said. “The boy had it forged special for\nthe tourney. Plain work, but good. I do not know if he had finished paying the smith.”\n\n“He paid yesterday, my lord, and he paid dearly,” Ned replied. And to the silent sister he\nsaid, “Send the mother the armor. I will deal with this smith.” She bowed her head.\n\nAfterward Ser Barristan walked with Ned to the king’s pavilion. The camp was beginning\nto stir. Fat sausages sizzled and spit over firepits, spicing the air with the scents of garlic\n"
## [284] "and pepper. Young squires hurried about on errands as their masters woke, yawning and\nstretching, to meet the day. A serving man with a goose under his arm bent his knee\nwhen he caught sight of them. “M’lords,” he muttered as the goose honked and pecked at\nhis fingers. The shields displayed outside each tent heralded its occupant: the silver\neagle of Seagard, Bryce Caron’s field of nightingales, a cluster of grapes for the\nRedwynes, brindled boar, red ox, burning tree, white ram, triple spiral, purple unicorn,\ndancing maiden, blackadder, twin towers, horned owl, and last the pure white blazons of\nthe Kingsguard, shining like the dawn.\n\n“The king means to fight in the melee today,” Ser Barristan said as they were passing Ser\nMeryn’s shield, its paint sullied by a deep gash where Loras Tyrell’s lance had scarred\nthe wood as he drove him from his saddle.\n\n“Yes,” Ned said grimly. Jory had woken him last night to bring him that news. Small\nwonder he had slept so badly.\n\nSer Barristan’s look was troubled. “They say night’s beauties fade at dawn, and the\nchildren of wine are oft disowned in the morning light.”\n\n“They say so,” Ned agreed, “but not of Robert.” Other men might reconsider words\nspoken in drunken bravado, but Robert Baratheon would remember and, remembering,\nwould never back down.\n\nThe king’s pavilion was close by the water, and the morning mists off the river had\nwreathed it in wisps of grey. It was all of golden silk, the largest and grandest structure\nin the camp. Outside the entrance, Robert’s warhammer was displayed beside an\nimmense iron shield blazoned with the crowned stag of House Baratheon.\n\nNed had hoped to discover the king still abed in a wine-soaked sleep, but luck was not\nwith him. They found Robert drinking beer from a polished horn and roaring his\ndispleasure at two young squires who were trying to buckle him into his armor. “Your\nGrace,” one was saying, almost in tears, “it’s made too small, it won’t go.” He fumbled,\nand the gorget he was trying to fit around Robert’s thick neck tumbled to the ground.\n\n“Seven hells!” Robert swore. “Do I have to do it myself? Piss on the both of you. Pick it\nup. Don’t just stand there gaping, Lancel, pick it up!” The lad jumped, and the king\nnoticed his company. “Look at these oafs, Ned. My wife insisted I take these two to\nsquire for me, and they’re worse than useless. Can’t even put a man’s armor on him\nproperly. Squires, they say. I say they’re swineherds dressed up in silk.”\n\nNed only needed a glance to understand the difficulty. “The boys are not at fault,” he told\nthe king. “You’re too fat for your armor, Robert.”\n"
## [285] "Robert Baratheon took a long swallow of beer, tossed the empty horn onto his sleeping\nfurs, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and said darkly, “Fat? Fat, is it? Is that\nhow you speak to your king?” He let go his laughter, sudden as a storm. “Ah, damn you,\nNed, why are you always right?”\n\nThe squires smiled nervously until the king turned on them. “You. Yes, both of you. You\nheard the Hand. The king is too fat for his armor. Go find Ser Aron Santagar. Tell him I\nneed the breastplate stretcher. Now! What are you waiting for?”\n\nThe boys tripped over each other in their haste to be quit of the tent. Robert managed to\nkeep a stern face until they were gone. Then he dropped back into a chair, shaking with\nlaughter.\n\nSer Barristan Selmy chuckled with him. Even Eddard Stark managed a smile. Always,\nthough, the graver thoughts crept in. He could not help taking note of the two squires:\nhandsome boys, fair and well made. One was Sansa’s age, with long golden curls; the\nother perhaps fifteen, sandy-haired, with a wisp of a mustache and the emerald-green\neyes of the queen.\n\n“Ah, I wish I could be there to see Santagar’s face,” Robert said. “I hope he’ll have the wit\nto send them to someone else. We ought to keep them running all day!”\n\n“Those boys,” Ned asked him. “Lannisters?”\n\nRobert nodded, wiping tears from his eyes. “Cousins. Sons of Lord Tywin’s brother. One\nof the dead ones. Or perhaps the live one, now that I come to think on it. I don’t recall.\nMy wife comes from a very large family, Ned.”\n\nA very ambitious family, Ned thought. He had nothing against the squires, but it\ntroubled him to see Robert surrounded by the queen’s kin, waking and sleeping. The\nLannister appetite for offices and honors seemed to know no bounds. “The talk is you\nand the queen had angry words last night.”\n\nThe mirth curdled on Robert’s face. “The woman tried to forbid me to fight in the melee.\nShe’s sulking in the castle now, damn her. Your sister would never have shamed me like\nthat.”\n\n“You never knew Lyanna as I did, Robert,” Ned told him. “You saw her beauty, but not\nthe iron underneath. She would have told you that you have no business in the melee.”\n\n“You too?” The king frowned. “You are a sour man, Stark. Too long in the north, all the\n"
## [286] "juices have frozen inside you. Well, mine are still running.” He slapped his chest to prove\nit.\n\n“You are the king,” Ned reminded him.\n\n“I sit on the damn iron seat when I must. Does that mean I don’t have the same hungers\nas other men? A bit of wine now and again, a girl squealing in bed, the feel of a horse\nbetween my legs? Seven hells, Ned, I want to hit someone.”\n\nSer Barristan Selmy spoke up. “Your Grace,” he said, “it is not seemly that the king\nshould ride into the melee. It would not be a fair contest. Who would dare strike you?”\n\nRobert seemed honestly taken aback. “Why, all of them, damn it. If they can. And the\nlast man left standing . . . ”\n\n“ . . . will be you,” Ned finished. He saw at once that Selmy had hit the mark. The dangers\nof the melee were only a savor to Robert, but this touched on his pride. “Ser Barristan is\nright. There’s not a man in the Seven Kingdoms who would dare risk your displeasure by\nhurting you.”\n\nThe king rose to his feet, his face flushed. “Are you telling me those prancing cravens will\nlet me win?”\n\n“For a certainty,” Ned said, and Ser Barristan Selmy bowed his head in silent accord.\n\nFor a moment Robert was so angry he could not speak. He strode across the tent,\nwhirled, strode back, his face dark and angry. He snatched up his breastplate from the\nground and threw it at Barristan Selmy in a wordless fury. Selmy dodged. “Get out,” the\nking said then, coldly. “Get out before I kill you.”\n\nSer Barristan left quickly. Ned was about to follow when the king called out again. “Not\nyou, Ned.”\n\nNed turned back. Robert took up his horn again, filled it with beer from a barrel in the\ncorner, and thrust it at Ned. “Drink,” he said brusquely.\n\n“I’ve no thirst—”\n\n“Drink. Your king commands it.”\n\nNed took the horn and drank. The beer was black and thick, so strong it stung the eyes.\n"
## [287] "Robert sat down again. “Damn you, Ned Stark. You and Jon Arryn, I loved you both.\nWhat have you done to me? You were the one should have been king, you or Jon.”\n\n“You had the better claim, Your Grace.”\n\n“I told you to drink, not to argue. You made me king, you could at least have the courtesy\nto listen when I talk, damn you. Look at me, Ned. Look at what kinging has done to me.\nGods, too fat for my armor, how did it ever come to this?”\n\n“Robert . . . ”\n\n“Drink and stay quiet, the king is talking. I swear to you, I was never so alive as when I\nwas winning this throne, or so dead as now that I’ve won it. And Cersei . . . I have Jon\nArryn to thank for her. I had no wish to marry after Lyanna was taken from me, but Jon\nsaid the realm needed an heir. Cersei Lannister would be a good match, he told me, she\nwould bind Lord Tywin to me should Viserys Targaryen ever try to win back his father’s\nthrone.” The king shook his head. “I loved that old man, I swear it, but now I think he\nwas a bigger fool than Moon Boy. Oh, Cersei is lovely to look at, truly, but cold . . . the\nway she guards her cunt, you’d think she had all the gold of Casterly Rock between her\nlegs. Here, give me that beer if you won’t drink it.” He took the horn, upended it,\nbelched, wiped his mouth. “I am sorry for your girl, Ned. Truly. About the wolf, I mean.\nMy son was lying, I’d stake my soul on it. My son . . . you love your children, don’t you?”\n\n“With all my heart,” Ned said.\n\n“Let me tell you a secret, Ned. More than once, I have dreamed of giving up the crown.\nTake ship for the Free Cities with my horse and my hammer, spend my time warring and\nwhoring, that’s what I was made for. The sellsword king, how the singers would love me.\nYou know what stops me? The thought of Joffrey on the throne, with Cersei standing\nbehind him whispering in his ear. My son. How could I have made a son like that, Ned?”\n\n“He’s only a boy,” Ned said awkwardly. He had small liking for Prince Joffrey, but he\ncould hear the pain in Robert’s voice. “Have you forgotten how wild you were at his age?”\n\n“It would not trouble me if the boy was wild, Ned. You don’t know him as I do.” He\nsighed and shook his head. “Ah, perhaps you are right. Jon despaired of me often\nenough, yet I grew into a good king.” Robert looked at Ned and scowled at his silence.\n“You might speak up and agree now, you know.”\n\n“Your Grace . . . ” Ned began, carefully.\n"
## [288] "Robert slapped Ned on the back. “Ah, say that I’m a better king than Aerys and be done\nwith it. You never could lie for love nor honor, Ned Stark. I’m still young, and now that\nyou’re here with me, things will be different. We’ll make this a reign to sing of, and damn\nthe Lannisters to seven hells. I smell bacon. Who do you think our champion will be\ntoday? Have you seen Mace Tyrell’s boy? The Knight of Flowers, they call him. Now\nthere’s a son any man would be proud to own to. Last tourney, he dumped the\nKingslayer on his golden rump, you ought to have seen the look on Cersei’s face. I\nlaughed till my sides hurt. Renly says he has this sister, a maid of fourteen, lovely as a\ndawn . . . ”\n\nThey broke their fast on black bread and boiled goose eggs and fish fried up with onions\nand bacon, at a trestle table by the river’s edge. The king’s melancholy melted away with\nthe morning mist, and before long Robert was eating an orange and waxing fond about a\nmorning at the Eyrie when they had been boys. “ . . . had given Jon a barrel of oranges,\nremember? Only the things had gone rotten, so I flung mine across the table and hit\nDacks right in the nose. You remember, Redfort’s pock-faced squire? He tossed one back\nat me, and before Jon could so much as fart, there were oranges flying across the High\nHall in every direction.” He laughed uproariously, and even Ned smiled, remembering.\n\nThis was the boy he had grown up with, he thought; this was the Robert Baratheon he’d\nknown and loved. If he could prove that the Lannisters were behind the attack on Bran,\nprove that they had murdered Jon Arryn, this man would listen. Then Cersei would fall,\nand the Kingslayer with her, and if Lord Tywin dared to rouse the west, Robert would\nsmash him as he had smashed Rhaegar Targaryen on the Trident. He could see it all so\nclearly.\n\nThat breakfast tasted better than anything Eddard Stark had eaten in a long time, and\nafterward his smiles came easier and more often, until it was time for the tournament to\nresume.\n\nNed walked with the king to the jousting field. He had promised to watch the final tilts\nwith Sansa; Septa Mordane was ill today, and his daughter was determined not to miss\nthe end of the jousting. As he saw Robert to his place, he noted that Cersei Lannister had\nchosen not to appear; the place beside the king was empty. That too gave Ned cause to\nhope.\n\nHe shouldered his way to where his daughter was seated and found her as the horns\nblew for the day’s first joust. Sansa was so engrossed she scarcely seemed to notice his\narrival.\n\nSandor Clegane was the first rider to appear. He wore an olive- green cloak over his soot-\ngrey armor. That, and his hound’s-head helm, were his only concession to ornament.\n"
## [289] "“A hundred golden dragons on the Kingslayer,” Littlefinger announced loudly as Jaime\nLannister entered the lists, riding an elegant blood bay destrier. The horse wore a\nblanket of gilded ringmail, and Jaime glittered from head to heel. Even his lance was\nfashioned from the golden wood of the Summer Isles.\n\n“Done,” Lord Renly shouted back. “The Hound has a hungry look about him this\nmorning.”\n\n“Even hungry dogs know better than to bite the hand that feeds them,” Littlefinger called\ndryly.\n\nSandor Clegane dropped his visor with an audible clang and took up his position. Ser\nJaime tossed a kiss to some woman in the commons, gently lowered his visor, and rode\nto the end of the lists. Both men couched their lances.\n\nNed Stark would have loved nothing so well as to see them both lose, but Sansa was\nwatching it all moist-eyed and eager. The hastily erected gallery trembled as the horses\nbroke into a gallop. The Hound leaned forward as he rode, his lance rock steady, but\nJaime shifted his seat deftly in the instant before impact. Clegane’s point was turned\nharmlessly against the golden shield with the lion blazon, while his own hit square.\nWood shattered, and the Hound reeled, fighting to keep his seat. Sansa gasped. A ragged\ncheer went up from the commons.\n\n“I wonder how I ought spend your money,” Littlefinger called down to Lord Renly.\n\nThe Hound just managed to stay in his saddle. He jerked his mount around hard and\nrode back to the lists for the second pass. Jaime Lannister tossed down his broken lance\nand snatched up a fresh one, jesting with his squire. The Hound spurred forward at a\nhard gallop. Lannister rode to meet him. This time, when Jaime shifted his seat, Sandor\nClegane shifted with him. Both lances exploded, and by the time the splinters had\nsettled, a riderless blood bay was trotting off in search of grass while Ser Jaime Lannister\nrolled in the dirt, golden and dented.\n\nSansa said, “I knew the Hound would win.”\n\nLittlefinger overheard. “If you know who’s going to win the second match, speak up now\nbefore Lord Renly plucks me clean,” he called to her. Ned smiled.\n\n“A pity the Imp is not here with us,” Lord Renly said. “I should have won twice as much.”\n\nJaime Lannister was back on his feet, but his ornate lion helmet had been twisted\n"
## [290] "around and dented in his fall, and now he could not get it off. The commons were\nhooting and pointing, the lords and ladies were trying to stifle their chuckles, and failing,\nand over it all Ned could hear King Robert laughing, louder than anyone. Finally they\nhad to lead the Lion of Lannister off to a blacksmith, blind and stumbling.\n\nBy then Ser Gregor Clegane was in position at the head of the lists. He was huge, the\nbiggest man that Eddard Stark had ever seen. Robert Baratheon and his brothers were\nall big men, as was the Hound, and back at Winterfell there was a simpleminded\nstableboy named Hodor who dwarfed them all, but the knight they called the Mountain\nThat Rides would have towered over Hodor. He was well over seven feet tall, closer to\neight, with massive shoulders and arms thick as the trunks of small trees. His destrier\nseemed a pony in between his armored legs, and the lance he carried looked as small as a\nbroom handle.\n\nUnlike his brother, Ser Gregor did not live at court. He was a solitary man who seldom\nleft his own lands, but for wars and tourneys. He had been with Lord Tywin when King’s\nLanding fell, a new-made knight of seventeen years, even then distinguished by his size\nand his implacable ferocity. Some said it had been Gregor who’d dashed the skull of the\ninfant prince Aegon Targaryen against a wall, and whispered that afterward he had\nraped the mother, the Dornish princess Elia, before putting her to the sword. These\nthings were not said in Gregor’s hearing.\n\nNed Stark could not recall ever speaking to the man, though Gregor had ridden with\nthem during Balon Greyjoy’s rebellion, one knight among thousands. He watched him\nwith disquiet. Ned seldom put much stock in gossip, but the things said of Ser Gregor\nwere more than ominous. He was soon to be married for the third time, and one heard\ndark whisperings about the deaths of his first two wives. It was said that his keep was a\ngrim place where servants disappeared unaccountably and even the dogs were afraid to\nenter the hall. And there had been a sister who had died young under queer\ncircumstances, and the fire that had disfigured his brother, and the hunting accident\nthat had killed their father. Gregor had inherited the keep, the gold, and the family\nestates. His younger brother Sandor had left the same day to take service with the\nLannisters as a sworn sword, and it was said that he had never returned, not even to visit.\n\nWhen the Knight of Flowers made his entrance, a murmur ran through the crowd, and\nhe heard Sansa’s fervent whisper, “Oh, he’s so beautiful.” Ser Loras Tyrell was slender as\na reed, dressed in a suit of fabulous silver armor polished to a blinding sheen and\nfiligreed with twining black vines and tiny blue forget-me-nots. The commons realized in\nthe same instant as Ned that the blue of the flowers came from sapphires; a gasp went\nup from a thousand throats. Across the boy’s shoulders his cloak hung heavy. It was\nwoven of forget-me-nots, real ones, hundreds of fresh blooms sewn to a heavy woolen\ncape.\n"
## [291] "His courser was as slim as her rider, a beautiful grey mare, built for speed. Ser Gregor’s\nhuge stallion trumpeted as he caught her scent. The boy from Highgarden did something\nwith his legs, and his horse pranced sideways, nimble as a dancer. Sansa clutched at his\narm. “Father, don’t let Ser Gregor hurt him,” she said. Ned saw she was wearing the rose\nthat Ser Loras had given her yesterday. Jory had told him about that as well.\n\n“These are tourney lances,” he told his daughter. “They make them to splinter on impact,\nso no one is hurt.” Yet he remembered the dead boy in the cart with his cloak of crescent\nmoons, and the words were raw in his throat.\n\nSer Gregor was having trouble controlling his horse. The stallion was screaming and\npawing the ground, shaking his head. The Mountain kicked at the animal savagely with\nan armored boot. The horse reared and almost threw him.\n\nThe Knight of Flowers saluted the king, rode to the far end of the list, and couched his\nlance, ready. Ser Gregor brought his animal to the line, fighting with the reins. And\nsuddenly it began. The Mountain’s stallion broke in a hard gallop, plunging forward\nwildly, while the mare charged as smooth as a flow of silk. Ser Gregor wrenched his\nshield into position, juggled with his lance, and all the while fought to hold his unruly\nmount on a straight line, and suddenly Loras Tyrell was on him, placing the point of his\nlance just there, and in an eye blink the Mountain was failing. He was so huge that he\ntook his horse down with him in a tangle of steel and flesh.\n\nNed heard applause, cheers, whistles, shocked gasps, excited muttering, and over it all\nthe rasping, raucous laughter of the Hound. The Knight of Flowers reined up at the end\nof the lists. His lance was not even broken. His sapphires winked in the sun as he raised\nhis visor, smiling. The commons went mad for him.\n\nIn the middle of the field, Ser Gregor Clegane disentangled himself and came boiling to\nhis feet. He wrenched off his helm and slammed it down onto the ground. His face was\ndark with fury and his hair fell down into his eyes. “My sword,” he shouted to his squire,\nand the boy ran it out to him. By then his stallion was back on its feet as well.\n\nGregor Clegane killed the horse with a single blow of such ferocity that it half severed the\nanimal’s neck. Cheers turned to shrieks in a heartbeat. The stallion went to its knees,\nscreaming as it died. By then Gregor was striding down the lists toward Ser Loras Tyrell,\nhis bloody sword clutched in his fist. “Stop him!” Ned shouted, but his words were lost in\nthe roar. Everyone else was yelling as well, and Sansa was crying.\n\nIt all happened so fast. The Knight of Flowers was shouting for his own sword as Ser\nGregor knocked his squire aside and made a grab for the reins of his horse. The mare\nscented blood and reared. Loras Tyrell kept his seat, but barely. Ser Gregor swung his\n"
## [292] "sword, a savage two-handed blow that took the boy in the chest and knocked him from\nthe saddle. The courser dashed away in panic as Ser Loras lay stunned in the dirt. But as\nGregor lifted his sword for the killing blow, a rasping voice warned, “Leave him be,” and\na steel-clad hand wrenched him away from the boy.\n\nThe Mountain pivoted in wordless fury, swinging his longsword in a killing arc with all\nhis massive strength behind it, but the Hound caught the blow and turned it, and for\nwhat seemed an eternity the two brothers stood hammering at each other as a dazed\nLoras Tyrell was helped to safety. Thrice Ned saw Ser Gregor aim savage blows at the\nhound’s-head helmet, yet not once did Sandor send a cut at his brother’s unprotected\nface.\n\nIt was the king’s voice that put an end to it . . . the king’s voice and twenty swords. Jon\nArryn had told them that a commander needs a good battlefield voice, and Robert had\nproved the truth of that on the Trident. He used that voice now. “STOP THIS\nMADNESS,” he boomed, “IN THE NAME OF YOUR KING!”\n\nThe Hound went to one knee. Ser Gregor’s blow cut air, and at last he came to his senses.\nHe dropped his sword and glared at Robert, surrounded by his Kingsguard and a dozen\nother knights and guardsmen. Wordlessly, he turned and strode off, shoving past\nBarristan Selmy. “Let him go,” Robert said, and as quickly as that, it was over.\n\n“Is the Hound the champion now?” Sansa asked Ned.\n\n“No,” he told her. “There will be one final joust, between the Hound and the Knight of\nFlowers.”\n\nBut Sansa had the right of it after all. A few moments later Ser Loras Tyrell walked back\nonto the field in a simple linen doublet and said to Sandor Clegane, “I owe you my life.\nThe day is yours, ser.”\n\n“I am no ser,” the Hound replied, but he took the victory, and the champion’s purse,\nand, for perhaps the first time in his life, the love of the commons. They cheered him as\nhe left the lists to return to his pavilion.\n\nAs Ned walked with Sansa to the archery field, Littlefinger and Lord Renly and some of\nthe others fell in with them. “Tyrell had to know the mare was in heat,” Littlefinger was\nsaying. “I swear the boy planned the whole thing. Gregor has always favored huge, ill-\ntempered stallions with more spirit than sense.” The notion seemed to amuse him.\n\nIt did not amuse Ser Barristan Selmy. “There is small honor in tricks,” the old man said\nstiffly.\n"
## [293] "“Small honor and twenty thousand golds.” Lord Renly smiled.\n\nThat afternoon a boy named Anguy, an unheralded commoner from the Dornish\nMarches, won the archery competition, outshooting Ser Balon Swann and Jalabhar Xho\nat a hundred paces after all the other bowmen had been eliminated at the shorter\ndistances. Ned sent Alyn to seek him out and offer him a position with the Hand’s guard,\nbut the boy was flush with wine and victory and riches undreamed of, and he refused.\n\nThe melee went on for three hours. Near forty men took part, freeriders and hedge\nknights and new-made squires in search of a reputation. They fought with blunted\nweapons in a chaos of mud and blood, small troops fighting together and then turning\non each other as alliances formed and fractured, until only one man was left standing.\nThe victor was the red priest, Thoros of Myr, a madman who shaved his head and fought\nwith a flaming sword. He had won melees before; the fire sword frightened the mounts\nof the other riders, and nothing frightened Thoros. The final tally was three broken\nlimbs, a shattered collarbone, a dozen smashed fingers, two horses that had to be put\ndown, and more cuts, sprains, and bruises than anyone cared to count. Ned was\ndesperately pleased that Robert had not taken part.\n\nThat night at the feast, Eddard Stark was more hopeful than he had been in a great\nwhile. Robert was in high good humor, the Lannisters were nowhere to be seen, and\neven his daughters were behaving. Jory brought Arya down to join them, and Sansa\nspoke to her sister pleasantly. “The tournament was magnificent,” she sighed. “You\nshould have come. How was your dancing?”\n\n“I’m sore all over,” Arya reported happily, proudly displaying a huge purple bruise on\nher leg.\n\n“You must be a terrible dancer,” Sansa said doubtfully.\n\nLater, while Sansa was off listening to a troupe of singers perform the complex round of\ninterwoven ballads called the “Dance of the Dragons,” Ned inspected the bruise himself.\n“I hope Forel is not being too hard on you,” he said.\n\nArya stood on one leg. She was getting much better at that of late. “Syrio says that every\nhurt is a lesson, and every lesson makes you better.”\n\nNed frowned. The man Syrio Forel had come with an excellent reputation, and his\nflamboyant Braavosi style was well suited to Arya’s slender blade, yet still . . . a few days\nago, she had been wandering around with a swatch of black silk tied over her eyes. Syrio\nwas teaching her to see with her ears and her nose and her skin, she told him. Before\n"
## [294] "that, he had her doing spins and back flips. “Arya, are you certain you want to persist in\nthis?”\n\nShe nodded. “Tomorrow we’re going to catch cats.”\n\n“Cats.” Ned sighed. “Perhaps it was a mistake to hire this Braavosi. If you like, I will ask\nJory to take over your lessons. Or I might have a quiet word with Ser Barristan. He was\nthe finest sword in the Seven Kingdoms in his youth.”\n\n“I don’t want them,” Arya said. “I want Syrio.”\n\nNed ran his fingers through his hair. Any decent master-at-arms could give Arya the\nrudiments of slash-and-parry without this nonsense of blindfolds, cartwheels, and\nhopping about on one leg, but he knew his youngest daughter well enough to know there\nwas no arguing with that stubborn jut of jaw. “As you wish,” he said. Surely she would\ngrow tired of this soon. “Try to be careful.”\n\n“I will,” she promised solemnly as she hopped smoothly from her right leg to her left.\n\nMuch later, after he had taken the girls back through the city and seen them both safe in\nbed, Sansa with her dreams and Arya with her bruises, Ned ascended to his own\nchambers atop the Tower of the Hand. The day had been warm and the room was close\nand stuffy. Ned went to the window and unfastened the heavy shutters to let in the cool\nnight air. Across the Great Yard, he noticed the flickering glow of candlelight from\nLittlefinger’s windows. The hour was well past midnight. Down by the river, the revels\nwere only now beginning to dwindle and die.\n\nHe took out the dagger and studied it. Littlefinger’s blade, won by Tyrion Lannister in a\ntourney wager, sent to slay Bran in his sleep. Why? Why would the dwarf want Bran\ndead? Why would anyone want Bran dead?\n\nThe dagger, Bran’s fall, all of it was linked somehow to the murder of Jon Arryn, he\ncould feel it in his gut, but the truth of Jon’s death remained as clouded to him as when\nhe had started. Lord Stannis had not returned to King’s Landing for the tourney. Lysa\nArryn held her silence behind the high walls of the Eyrie. The squire was dead, and Jory\nwas still searching the whorehouses. What did he have but Robert’s bastard?\n\nThat the armorer’s sullen apprentice was the king’s son, Ned had no doubt. The\nBaratheon look was stamped on his face, in his jaw, his eyes, that black hair. Renly was\ntoo young to have fathered a boy of that age, Stannis too cold and proud in his honor.\nGendry had to be Robert’s.\n"
## [295] "Yet knowing all that, what had he learned? The king had other baseborn children\nscattered throughout the Seven Kingdoms. He had openly acknowledged one of his\nbastards, a boy of Bran’s age whose mother was highborn. The lad was being fostered by\nLord Renly’s castellan at Storm’s End.\n\nNed remembered Robert’s first child as well, a daughter born in the Vale when Robert\nwas scarcely more than a boy himself. A sweet little girl; the young lord of Storm’s End\nhad doted on her. He used to make daily visits to play with the babe, long after he had\nlost interest in the mother. Ned was often dragged along for company, whether he willed\nit or not. The girl would be seventeen or eighteen now, he realized; older than Robert\nhad been when he fathered her. A strange thought.\n\nCersei could not have been pleased by her lord husband’s by-blows, yet in the end it\nmattered little whether the king had one bastard or a hundred. Law and custom gave the\nbaseborn few rights. Gendry, the girl in the Vale, the boy at Storm’s End, none of them\ncould threaten Robert’s trueborn children . . .\n\nHis musings were ended by a soft rap on his door. “A man to see you, my lord,” Harwin\ncalled. “He will not give his name.”\n\n“Send him in,” Ned said, wondering.\n\nThe visitor was a stout man in cracked, mud-caked boots and a heavy brown robe of the\ncoarsest roughspun, his features hidden by a cowl, his hands drawn up into voluminous\nsleeves.\n\n“Who are you?” Ned asked.\n\n“A friend,” the cowled man said in a strange, low voice. “We must speak alone, Lord\nStark.”\n\nCuriosity was stronger than caution. “Harwin, leave us,” he commanded. Not until they\nwere alone behind closed doors did his visitor draw back his cowl.\n\n“Lord Varys?” Ned said in astonishment.\n\n“Lord Stark,” Varys said politely, seating himself. “I wonder if I might trouble you for a\ndrink?”\n\nNed filled two cups with summerwine and handed one to Varys. “I might have passed\nwithin a foot of you and never recognized you,” he said, incredulous. He had never seen\nthe eunuch dress in anything but silk and velvet and the richest damasks, and this man\n"
## [296] "smelled of sweat instead of lilacs.\n\n“That was my dearest hope,” Varys said. “It would not do if certain people learned that\nwe had spoken in private. The queen watches you closely. This wine is very choice.\nThank you.”\n\n“How did you get past my other guards?” Ned asked. Porther and Cayn had been posted\noutside the tower, and Alyn on the stairs.\n\n“The Red Keep has ways known only to ghosts and spiders.” Varys smiled apologetically.\n“I will not keep you long, my lord. There are things you must know. You are the King’s\nHand, and the king is a fool.” The eunuch’s cloying tones were gone; now his voice was\nthin and sharp as a whip. “Your friend, I know, yet a fool nonetheless . . . and doomed,\nunless you save him. Today was a near thing. They had hoped to kill him during the\nmelee.”\n\nFor a moment Ned was speechless with shock. “Who?”\n\nVarys sipped his wine. “If I truly need to tell you that, you are a bigger fool than Robert\nand I am on the wrong side.”\n\n“The Lannisters,” Ned said. “The queen . . . no, I will not believe that, not even of Cersei.\nShe asked him not to fight!”\n\n“She forbade him to fight, in front of his brother, his knights, and half the court. Tell me\ntruly, do you know any surer way to force King Robert into the melee? I ask you.”\n\nNed had a sick feeling in his gut. The eunuch had hit upon a truth; tell Robert Baratheon\nhe could not, should not, or must not do a thing, and it was as good as done. “Even if\nhe’d fought, who would have dared to strike the king?”\n\nVarys shrugged. “There were forty riders in the melee. The Lannisters have many\nfriends. Amidst all that chaos, with horses screaming and bones breaking and Thoros of\nMyr waving that absurd firesword of his, who could name it murder if some chance blow\nfelled His Grace?” He went to the flagon and refilled his cup. “After the deed was done,\nthe slayer would be beside himself with grief. I can almost hear him weeping. So sad. Yet\nno doubt the gracious and compassionate widow would take pity, lift the poor\nunfortunate to his feet, and bless him with a gentle kiss of forgiveness. Good King\nJoffrey would have no choice but to pardon him.” The eunuch stroked his cheek. “Or\nperhaps Cersei would let Ser Ilyn strike off his head. Less risk for the Lannisters that\nway, though quite an unpleasant surprise for their little friend.”\n"
## [297] "Ned felt his anger rise. “You knew of this plot, and yet you did nothing.”\n\n“I command whisperers, not warriors.”\n\n“You might have come to me earlier.”\n\n“Oh, yes, I confess it. And you would have rushed straight to the king, yes? And when\nRobert heard of his peril, what would he have done? I wonder.”\n\nNed considered that. “He would have damned them all, and fought anyway, to show he\ndid not fear them.”\n\nVarys spread his hands. “I will make another confession, Lord Eddard. I was curious to\nsee what you would do. Why not come to me? you ask, and I must answer, Why, because\nI did not trust you, my lord.”\n\n“You did not trust me?” Ned was frankly astonished.\n\n“The Red Keep shelters two sorts of people, Lord Eddard,” Varys said. “Those who are\nloyal to the realm, and those who are loyal only to themselves. Until this morning, I\ncould not say which you might be . . . so I waited to see . . . and now I know, for a\ncertainty.” He smiled a plump tight little smile, and for a moment his private face and\npublic mask were one. “I begin to comprehend why the queen fears you so much. Oh, yes\nI do.”\n\n“You are the one she ought to fear,” Ned said.\n\n“No. I am what I am. The king makes use of me, but it shames him. A most puissant\nwarrior is our Robert, and such a manly man has little love for sneaks and spies and\neunuchs. If a day should come when Cersei whispers, ‘Kill that man,’ Ilyn Payne will\nsnick my head off in a twinkling, and who will mourn poor Varys then? North or south,\nthey sing no songs for spiders.” He reached out and touched Ned with a soft hand. “But\nyou, Lord Stark . . . I think . . . no, I know . . . he would not kill you, not even for his\nqueen, and there may lie our salvation.”\n\nIt was all too much. For a moment Eddard Stark wanted nothing so much as to return to\nWinterfell, to the clean simplicity of the north, where the enemies were winter and the\nwildlings beyond the Wall. “Surely Robert has other loyal friends,” he protested. “His\nbrothers, his—”\n\n“—wife?” Varys finished, with a smile that cut. “His brothers hate the Lannisters, true\nenough, but hating the queen and loving the king are not quite the same thing, are they?\n"
## [298] "Ser Barristan loves his honor, Grand Maester Pycelle loves his office, and Littlefinger\nloves Littlefinger.”\n\n“The Kingsguard—”\n\n“A paper shield,” the eunuch said. “Try not to look so shocked, Lord Stark. Jaime\nLannister is himself a Sworn Brother of the White Swords, and we all know what his\noath is worth. The days when men like Ryam Redwyne and Prince Aemon the\nDragonknight wore the white cloak are gone to dust and song. Of these seven, only Ser\nBarristan Selmy is made of the true steel, and Selmy is old. Ser Boros and Ser Meryn are\nthe queen’s creatures to the bone, and I have deep suspicions of the others. No, my lord,\nwhen the swords come out in earnest, you will be the only true friend Robert Baratheon\nwill have.”\n\n“Robert must be told,” Ned said. “If what you say is true, if even a part of it is true, the\nking must hear it for himself.”\n\n“And what proof shall we lay before him? My words against theirs? My little birds\nagainst the queen and the Kingslayer, against his brothers and his council, against the\nWardens of East and West, against all the might of Casterly Rock? Pray, send for Ser Ilyn\ndirectly, it will save us all some time. I know where that road ends.”\n\n“Yet if what you say is true, they will only bide their time and make another attempt.”\n\n“Indeed they will,” said Varys, “and sooner rather than later, I do fear. You are making\nthem most anxious, Lord Eddard. But my little birds will be listening, and together we\nmay be able to forestall them, you and I.” He rose and pulled up his cowl so his face was\nhidden once more. “Thank you for the wine. We will speak again. When you see me next\nat council, be certain to treat me with your accustomed contempt. You should not find it\ndifficult.”\n\nHe was at the door when Ned called, “Varys.” The eunuch turned back. “How did Jon\nArryn die?”\n\n“I wondered when you would get around to that.”\n\n“Tell me.”\n\n“The tears of Lys, they call it. A rare and costly thing, clear and sweet as water, and it\nleaves no trace. I begged Lord Arryn to use a taster, in this very room I begged him, but\nhe would not hear of it. Only one who was less than a man would even think of such a\nthing, he told me.”\n"
## [299] "Ned had to know the rest. “Who gave him the poison?”\n\n“Some dear sweet friend who often shared meat and mead with him, no doubt. Oh, but\nwhich one? There were many such. Lord Arryn was a kindly, trusting man.” The eunuch\nsighed. “There was one boy. All he was, he owed Jon Arryn, but when the widow fled to\nthe Eyrie with her household, he stayed in King’s Landing and prospered. It always\ngladdens my heart to see the young rise in the world.” The whip was in his voice again,\nevery word a stroke. “He must have cut a gallant figure in the tourney, him in his bright\nnew armor, with those crescent moons on his cloak. A pity he died so untimely, before\nyou could talk to him . . . ”\n\nNed felt half-poisoned himself. “The squire,” he said. “Ser Hugh.” Wheels within wheels\nwithin wheels. Ned’s head was pounding. “Why? Why now? Jon Arryn had been Hand\nfor fourteen years. What was he doing that they had to kill him?”\n\n“Asking questions,” Varys said, slipping out the door.\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [300] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n TYRION\nAs he stood in the predawn chill watching Chiggen butcher his horse, Tyrion Lannister\nchalked up one more debt owed the Starks. Steam rose from inside the carcass when the\nsquat sellsword opened the belly with his skinning knife. His hands moved deftly, with\nnever a wasted cut; the work had to be done quickly, before the stink of blood brought\nshadowcats down from the heights.\n\n“None of us will go hungry tonight,” Bronn said. He was near a shadow himself; bone\nthin and bone hard, with black eyes and black hair and a stubble of beard.\n\n“Some of us may,” Tyrion told him. “I am not fond of eating horse. Particularly my\nhorse.”\n\n“Meat is meat,” Bronn said with a shrug. “The Dothraki like horse more than beef or\npork.”\n\n“Do you take me for a Dothraki?” Tyrion asked sourly. The Dothraki ate horse, in truth;\nthey also left deformed children out for the feral dogs who ran behind their khalasars.\nDothraki customs had scant appeal for him.\n\nChiggen sliced a thin strip of bloody meat off the carcass and held it up for inspection.\n“Want a taste, dwarf?”\n\n“My brother Jaime gave me that mare for my twenty-third name day,” Tyrion said in a\nflat voice.\n\n“Thank him for us, then. If you ever see him again.” Chiggen grinned, showing yellow\nteeth, and swallowed the raw meat in two bites. “Tastes well bred.”\n\n“Better if you fry it up with onions,” Bronn put in.\n\nWordlessly, Tyrion limped away. The cold had settled deep in his bones, and his legs\nwere so sore he could scarcely walk. Perhaps his dead mare was the lucky one. He had\nhours more riding ahead of him, followed by a few mouthfuls of food and a short, cold\nsleep on hard ground, and then another night of the same, and another, and another,\nand the gods only knew how it would end. “Damn her,” he muttered as he struggled up\n"
## [301] "the road to rejoin his captors, remembering, “damn her and all the Starks.”\n\nThe memory was still bitter. One moment he’d been ordering supper, and an eye blink\nlater he was facing a room of armed men, with Jyck reaching for a sword and the fat\ninnkeep shrieking, “No swords, not here, please, m’lords.”\n\nTyrion wrenched down Jyck’s arm hurriedly, before he got them both hacked to pieces.\n“Where are your courtesies, Jyck? Our good hostess said no swords. Do as she asks.” He\nforced a smile that must have looked as queasy as it felt. “You’re making a sad mistake,\nLady Stark. I had no part in any attack on your son. On my honor—”\n\n“Lannister honor,” was all she said. She held up her hands for all the room to see. “His\ndagger left these scars. The blade he sent to open my son’s throat.”\n\nTyrion felt the anger all around him, thick and smoky, fed by the deep cuts in the Stark\nwoman’s hands. “Kill him,” hissed some drunken slattern from the back, and other\nvoices took up the call, faster than he would have believed. Strangers all, friendly enough\nonly a moment ago, and yet now they cried for his blood like hounds on a trail.\n\nTyrion spoke up loudly, trying to keep the quaver from his voice. “If Lady Stark believes\nI have some crime to answer for, I will go with her and answer for it.”\n\nIt was the only possible course. Trying to cut their way out of this was a sure invitation to\nan early grave. A good dozen swords had responded to the Stark woman’s plea for help:\nthe Harrenhal man, the three Brackens, a pair of unsavory sellswords who looked as\nthough they’d kill him as soon as spit, and some fool field hands who doubtless had no\nidea what they were doing. Against that, what did Tyrion have? A dagger at his belt, and\ntwo men. Jyck swung a fair enough sword, but Morrec scarcely counted; he was part\ngroom, part cook, part body servant, and no soldier. As for Yoren, whatever his feelings\nmight have been, the black brothers were sworn to take no part in the quarrels of the\nrealm. Yoren would do nothing.\n\nAnd indeed, the black brother stepped aside silently when the old knight by Catelyn\nStark’s side said, “Take their weapons,” and the sellsword Bronn stepped forward to pull\nthe sword from Jyck’s fingers and relieve them all of their daggers. “Good,” the old man\nsaid as the tension in the common room ebbed palpably, “excellent.” Tyrion recognized\nthe gruff voice; Winterfell’s master-at-arms, shorn of his whiskers.\n\nScarlet-tinged spittle flew from the fat innkeep’s mouth as she begged of Catelyn Stark,\n“Don’t kill him here!”\n\n“Don’t kill him anywhere,” Tyrion urged.\n"
## [302] "“Take him somewheres else, no blood here, m’lady, I wants no high lordlin’s quarrels.”\n\n“We are taking him back to Winterfell,” she said, and Tyrion thought, Well,\nperhaps . . . By then he’d had a moment to glance over the room and get a better idea of\nthe situation. He was not altogether displeased by what he saw. Oh, the Stark woman\nhad been clever, no doubt of it. Force them to make a public affirmation of the oaths\nsworn her father by the lords they served, and then call on them for succor, and her a\nwoman, yes, that was sweet. Yet her success was not as complete as she might have\nliked. There were close to fifty in the common room by his rough count. Catelyn Stark’s\nplea had roused a bare dozen; the others looked confused, or frightened, or sullen. Only\ntwo of the Freys had stirred, Tyrion noted, and they’d sat back down quick enough when\ntheir captain failed to move. He might have smiled if he’d dared.\n\n“Winterfell it is, then,” he said instead. That was a long ride, as he could well attest,\nhaving just ridden it the other way. So many things could happen along the way. “My\nfather will wonder what has become of me,” he added, catching the eye of the\nswordsman who’d offered to yield up his room. “He’ll pay a handsome reward to any\nman who brings him word of what happened here today.” Lord Tywin would do no such\nthing, of course, but Tyrion would make up for it if he won free.\n\nSer Rodrik glanced at his lady, his look worried, as well it might be. “His men come with\nhim,” the old knight announced. “And we’ll thank the rest of you to stay quiet about\nwhat you’ve seen here.”\n\nIt was all Tyrion could do not to laugh. Quiet? The old fool. Unless he took the whole\ninn, the word would begin to spread the instant they were gone. The freerider with the\ngold coin in his pocket would fly to Casterly Rock like an arrow. If not him, then\nsomeone else. Yoren would carry the story south. That fool singer might make a lay of it.\nThe Freys would report back to their lord, and the gods only knew what he might do.\nLord Walder Frey might be sworn to Riverrun, but he was a cautious man who had lived\na long time by making certain he was always on the winning side. At the very least he\nwould send his birds winging south to King’s Landing, and he might well dare more than\nthat.\n\nCatelyn Stark wasted no time. “We must ride at once. We’ll want fresh mounts, and\nprovisions for the road. You men, know that you have the eternal gratitude of House\nStark. If any of you choose to help us guard our captives and get them safe to Winterfell,\nI promise you shall be well rewarded.” That was all it took; the fools came rushing\nforward. Tyrion studied their faces; they would indeed be well rewarded, he vowed to\nhimself, but perhaps not quite as they imagined.\n"
## [303] "Yet even as they were bundling him outside, saddling the horses in the rain, and tying\nhis hands with a length of coarse rope, Tyrion Lannister was not truly afraid. They would\nnever get him to Winterfell, he would have given odds on that. Riders would be after\nthem within the day, birds would take wing, and surely one of the river lords would want\nto curry favor with his father enough to take a hand. Tyrion was congratulating himself\non his subtlety when someone pulled a hood down over his eyes and lifted him up onto a\nsaddle.\n\nThey set out through the rain at a hard gallop, and before long Tyrion’s thighs were\ncramped and aching and his butt throbbed with pain. Even when they were safely away\nfrom the inn, and Catelyn Stark slowed them to a trot, it was a miserable pounding\njourney over rough ground, made worse by his blindness. Every twist and turn put him\nin danger of falling off his horse. The hood muffled sound, so he could not make out\nwhat was being said around him, and the rain soaked through the cloth and made it\ncling to his face, until even breathing was a struggle. The rope chafed his wrists raw and\nseemed to grow tighter as the night wore on. I was about to settle down to a warm fire\nand a roast fowl, and that wretched singer had to open his mouth, he thought\nmournfully. The wretched singer had come along with them. “There is a great song to be\nmade from this, and I’m the one to make it,” he told Catelyn Stark when he announced\nhis intention of riding with them to see how the “splendid adventure” turned out. Tyrion\nwondered whether the boy would think the adventure quite so splendid once the\nLannister riders caught up with them.\n\nThe rain had finally stopped and dawn light was seeping through the wet cloth over his\neyes when Catelyn Stark gave the command to dismount. Rough hands pulled him down\nfrom his horse, untied his wrists, and yanked the hood off his head. When he saw the\nnarrow stony road, the foothills rising high and wild all around them, and the jagged\nsnowcapped peaks on the distant horizon, all the hope went out of him in a rush. “This is\nthe high road,” he gasped, looking at Lady Stark with accusation. “The eastern road. You\nsaid we were riding for Winterfell!”\n\nCatelyn Stark favored him with the faintest of smiles. “Often and loudly,” she agreed.\n“No doubt your friends will ride that way when they come after us. I wish them good\nspeed.”\n\nEven now, long days later, the memory filled him with a bitter rage. All his life Tyrion\nhad prided himself on his cunning, the only gift the gods had seen fit to give him, and yet\nthis seven-times-damned she-wolf Catelyn Stark had outwitted him at every turn. The\nknowledge was more galling than the bare fact of his abduction.\n\nThey stopped only as long as it took to feed and water the horses, and then they were off\nagain. This time Tyrion was spared the hood. After the second night they no longer\n"
## [304] "bound his hands, and once they had gained the heights they scarcely bothered to guard\nhim at all. It seemed they did not fear his escape. And why should they? Up here the land\nwas harsh and wild, and the high road little more than a stony track. If he did run, how\nfar could he hope to go, alone and without provisions? The shadowcats would make a\nmorsel of him, and the clans that dwelt in the mountain fastnesses were brigands and\nmurderers who bowed to no law but the sword.\n\nYet still the Stark woman drove them forward relentlessly. He knew where they were\nbound. He had known it since the moment they pulled off his hood. These mountains\nwere the domain of House Arryn, and the late Hand’s widow was a Tully, Catelyn Stark’s\nsister . . . and no friend to the Lannisters. Tyrion had known the Lady Lysa slightly\nduring her years at King’s Landing, and did not look forward to renewing the\nacquaintance.\n\nHis captors were clustered around a stream a short ways down the high road. The horses\nhad drunk their fill of the icy cold water, and were grazing on clumps of brown grass that\ngrew from clefts in the rock. Jyck and Morrec huddled close, sullen and miserable.\nMohor stood over them, leaning on his spear and wearing a rounded iron cap that made\nhim look as if he had a bowl on his head. Nearby, Marillion the singer sat oiling his\nwoodharp, complaining of what the damp was doing to his strings.\n\n“We must have some rest, my lady,” the hedge knight Ser Willis Wode was saying to\nCatelyn Stark as Tyrion approached. He was Lady Whent’s man, stiff-necked and stolid,\nand the first to rise to aid Catelyn Stark back at the inn.\n\n“Ser Willis speaks truly, my lady,” Ser Rodrik said. “This is the third horse we have lost\n—”\n\n“We will lose more than horses if we’re overtaken by the Lannisters,” she reminded\nthem. Her face was windburnt and gaunt, but it had lost none of its determination.\n\n“Small chance of that here,” Tyrion put in.\n\n“The lady did not ask your views, dwarf,” snapped Kurleket, a great fat oaf with short-\ncropped hair and a pig’s face. He was one of the Brackens, a man-at-arms in the service\nof Lord Jonos. Tyrion had made a special effort to learn all their names, so he might\nthank them later for their tender treatment of him. A Lannister always paid his debts.\nKurleket would learn that someday, as would his friends Lharys and Mohor, and the\ngood Ser Willis, and the sellswords Bronn and Chiggen. He planned an especially sharp\nlesson for Marillion, him of the woodharp and the sweet tenor voice, who was struggling\nso manfully to rhyme imp with gimp and limp so he could make a song of this outrage.\n"
## [305] "“Let him speak,” Lady Stark commanded.\n\nTyrion Lannister seated himself on a rock. “By now our pursuit is likely racing across the\nNeck, chasing your lie up the kingsroad . . . assuming there is a pursuit, which is by no\nmeans certain. Oh, no doubt the word has reached my father . . . but my father does not\nlove me overmuch, and I am not at all sure that he will bother to bestir himself.” It was\nonly half a lie; Lord Tywin Lannister cared not a fig for his deformed son, but he\ntolerated no slights on the honor of his House. “This is a cruel land, Lady Stark. You’ll\nfind no succor until you reach the Vale, and each mount you lose burdens the others all\nthe more. Worse, you risk losing me. I am small, and not strong, and if I die, then what’s\nthe point?” That was no lie at all; Tyrion did not know how much longer he could endure\nthis pace.\n\n“It might be said that your death is the point, Lannister,” Catelyn Stark replied.\n\n“I think not,” Tyrion said. “If you wanted me dead, you had only to say the word, and one\nof these staunch friends of yours would gladly have given me a red smile.” He looked at\nKurleket, but the man was too dim to taste the mockery.\n\n“The Starks do not murder men in their beds.”\n\n“Nor do I,” he said. “I tell you again, I had no part in the attempt to kill your son.”\n\n“The assassin was armed with your dagger.”\n\nTyrion felt the heat rise in him. “It was not my dagger,” he insisted. “How many times\nmust I swear to that? Lady Stark, whatever you may believe of me, I am not a stupid\nman. Only a fool would arm a common footpad with his own blade.”\n\nJust for a moment, he thought he saw a flicker of doubt in her eyes, but what she said\nwas, “Why would Petyr lie to me?”\n\n“Why does a bear shit in the woods?” he demanded. “Because it is his nature. Lying\ncomes as easily as breathing to a man like Littlefinger. You ought to know that, you of all\npeople.”\n\nShe took a step toward him, her face tight. “And what does that mean, Lannister?”\n\nTyrion cocked his head. “Why, every man at court has heard him tell how he took your\nmaidenhead, my lady.”\n\n“That is a lie!” Catelyn Stark said.\n"
## [306] "“Oh, wicked little imp,” Marillion said, shocked.\n\nKurleket drew his dirk, a vicious piece of black iron. “At your word, m’lady, I’ll toss his\nlying tongue at your feet.” His pig eyes were wet with excitement at the prospect.\n\nCatelyn Stark stared at Tyrion with a coldness on her face such as he had never seen.\n“Petyr Baelish loved me once. He was only a boy. His passion was a tragedy for all of us,\nbut it was real, and pure, and nothing to be made mock of. He wanted my hand. That is\nthe truth of the matter. You are truly an evil man, Lannister.”\n\n“And you are truly a fool, Lady Stark. Littlefinger has never loved anyone but\nLittlefinger, and I promise you that it is not your hand that he boasts of, it’s those ripe\nbreasts of yours, and that sweet mouth, and the heat between your legs.”\n\nKurleket grabbed a handful of hair and yanked his head back in a hard jerk, baring his\nthroat. Tyrion felt the cold kiss of steel beneath his chin. “Shall I bleed him, my lady?”\n\n“Kill me and the truth dies with me,” Tyrion gasped.\n\n“Let him talk,” Catelyn Stark commanded.\n\nKurleket let go of Tyrion’s hair, reluctantly.\n\nTyrion took a deep breath. “How did Littlefinger tell you I came by this dagger of his?\nAnswer me that.”\n\n“You won it from him in a wager, during the tourney on Prince Joffrey’s name day.”\n\n“When my brother Jaime was unhorsed by the Knight of Flowers, that was his story, no?”\n\n“It was,” she admitted. A line creased her brow.\n\n“Riders!”\n\nThe shriek came from the wind-carved ridge above them. Ser Rodrik had sent Lharys\nscrambling up the rock face to watch the road while they took their rest.\n\nFor a long second, no one moved. Catelyn Stark was the first to react. “Ser Rodrik, Ser\nWillis, to horse,” she shouted. “Get the other mounts behind us. Mohor, guard the\nprisoners—”\n"
## [307] "“Arm us!” Tyrion sprang to his feet and seized her by the arm. “You will need every\nsword.”\n\nShe knew he was right, Tyrion could see it. The mountain clans cared nothing for the\nenmities of the great houses; they would slaughter Stark and Lannister with equal\nfervor, as they slaughtered each other. They might spare Catelyn herself; she was still\nyoung enough to bear sons. Still, she hesitated.\n\n“I hear them!” Ser Rodrik called out. Tyrion turned his head to listen, and there it was:\nhoofbeats, a dozen horses or more, coming nearer. Suddenly everyone was moving,\nreaching for weapons, running to their mounts.\n\nPebbles rained down around them as Lharys came springing and sliding down the ridge.\nHe landed breathless in front of Catelyn Stark, an ungainly-looking man with wild tufts\nof rust-colored hair sticking out from under a conical steel cap. “Twenty men, maybe\ntwenty-five,” he said, breathless. “Milk Snakes or Moon Brothers, by my guess. They\nmust have eyes out, m’lady . . . hidden watchers . . . they know we’re here.”\n\nSer Rodrik Cassel was already ahorse, a longsword in hand. Mohor crouched behind a\nboulder, both hands on his iron-tipped spear, a dagger between his teeth. “You, singer,”\nSer Willis Wode called out. “Help me with this breastplate.” Marillion sat frozen,\nclutching his woodharp, his face as pale as milk, but Tyrion’s man Morrec bounded\nquickly to his feet and moved to help the knight with his armor.\n\nTyrion kept his grip on Catelyn Stark. “You have no choice,” he told her. “Three of us,\nand a fourth man wasted guarding us . . . four men can be the difference between life and\ndeath up here.”\n\n“Give me your word that you will put down your swords again after the fight is done.”\n\n“My word?” The hoofbeats were louder now. Tyrion grinned crookedly. “Oh, that you\nhave, my lady . . . on my honor as a Lannister.”\n\nFor a moment he thought she would spit at him, but instead she snapped, “Arm them,”\nand as quick as that she was pulling away. Ser Rodrik tossed Jyck his sword and\nscabbard, and wheeled to meet the foe. Morrec helped himself to a bow and quiver, and\nwent to one knee beside the road. He was a better archer than swordsman. And Bronn\nrode up to offer Tyrion a double-bladed axe.\n\n“I have never fought with an axe.” The weapon felt awkward and unfamiliar in his hands.\nIt had a short haft, a heavy head, a nasty spike on top.\n"
## [308] "“Pretend you’re splitting logs,” Bronn said, drawing his longsword from the scabbard\nacross his back. He spat, and trotted off to form up beside Chiggen and Ser Rodrik. Ser\nWillis mounted up to join them, fumbling with his helmet, a metal pot with a thin slit for\nhis eyes and a long black silk plume.\n\n“Logs don’t bleed,” Tyrion said to no one in particular. He felt naked without armor. He\nlooked around for a rock and ran over to where Marillion was hiding. “Move over.”\n\n“Go away!” the boy screamed back at him. “I’m a singer, I want no part of this fight!”\n\n“What, lost your taste for adventure?” Tyrion kicked at the youth until he slid over, and\nnot a moment too soon. A heartbeat later, the riders were on them.\n\nThere were no heralds, no banners, no horns nor drums, only the twang of bowstrings as\nMorrec and Lharys let fly, and suddenly the clansmen came thundering out of the dawn,\nlean dark men in boiled leather and mismatched armor, faces hidden behind barred\nhalfhelms. In gloved hands were clutched all manner of weapons: longswords and lances\nand sharpened scythes, spiked clubs and daggers and heavy iron mauls. At their head\nrode a big man in a striped shadowskin cloak, armed with a two-handed greatsword.\n\nSer Rodrik shouted “Winterfell!” and rode to meet him, with Bronn and Chiggen beside\nhim, screaming some wordless battle cry. Ser Willis Wode followed, swinging a spiked\nmorningstar around his head. “Harrenhal! Harrenhal!” he sang. Tyrion felt a sudden\nurge to leap up, brandish his axe, and boom out, “Casterly Rock!” but the insanity passed\nquickly and he crouched down lower.\n\nHe heard the screams of frightened horses and the crash of metal on metal. Chiggen’s\nsword raked across the naked face of a mailed rider, and Bronn plunged through the\nclansmen like a whirlwind, cutting down foes right and left. Ser Rodrik hammered at the\nbig man in the shadowskin cloak, their horses dancing round each other as they traded\nblow for blow. Jyck vaulted onto a horse and galloped bareback into the fray. Tyrion saw\nan arrow sprout from the throat of the man in the shadowskin cloak. When he opened\nhis mouth to scream, only blood came out. By the time he fell, Ser Rodrik was fighting\nsomeone else.\n\nSuddenly Marillion shrieked, covering his head with his woodharp as a horse leapt over\ntheir rock. Tyrion scrambled to his feet as the rider turned to come back at them, hefting\na spiked maul. Tyrion swung his axe with both hands. The blade caught the charging\nhorse in the throat with a meaty thunk, angling upward, and Tyrion almost lost his grip\nas the animal screamed and collapsed. He managed to wrench the axe free and lurch\nclumsily out of the way. Marillion was less fortunate. Horse and rider crashed to the\nground in a tangle on top of the singer. Tyrion danced back in while the brigand’s leg\n"
## [309] "was still pinned beneath his fallen mount, and buried the axe in the man’s neck, just\nabove the shoulder blades.\n\nAs he struggled to yank the blade loose, he heard Marillion moaning under the bodies.\n“Someone help me,” the singer gasped. “Gods have mercy, I’m bleeding.”\n\n“I believe that’s horse blood,” Tyrion said. The singer’s hand came crawling out from\nbeneath the dead animal, scrabbling in the dirt like a spider with five legs. Tyrion put his\nheel on the grasping fingers and felt a satisfying crunch. “Close your eyes and pretend\nyou’re dead,” he advised the singer before he hefted the axe and turned away.\n\nAfter that, things ran together. The dawn was full of shouts and screams and heavy with\nthe scent of blood, and the world had turned to chaos. Arrows hissed past his ear and\nclattered off the rocks. He saw Bronn unhorsed, fighting with a sword in each hand.\nTyrion kept on the fringes of the fight, sliding from rock to rock and darting out of the\nshadows to hew at the legs of passing horses. He found a wounded clansman and left\nhim dead, helping himself to the man’s halfhelm. It fit too snugly, but Tyrion was glad of\nany protection at all. Jyck was cut down from behind while he sliced at a man in front of\nhim, and later Tyrion stumbled over Kurleket’s body. The pig face had been smashed in\nwith a mace, but Tyrion recognized the dirk as he plucked it from the man’s dead\nfingers. He was sliding it through his belt when he heard a woman’s scream.\n\nCatelyn Stark was trapped against the stone face of the mountain with three men around\nher, one still mounted and the other two on foot. She had a dagger clutched awkwardly\nin her maimed hands, but her back was to the rock now and they had penned her on\nthree sides. Let them have the bitch, Tyrion thought, and welcome to her, yet somehow\nhe was moving. He caught the first man in the back of the knee before they even knew he\nwas there, and the heavy axehead split flesh and bone like rotten wood. Logs that bleed,\nTyrion thought inanely as the second man came for him. Tyrion ducked under his sword,\nlashed out with the axe, the man reeled backward . . . and Catelyn Stark stepped up\nbehind him and opened his throat. The horseman remembered an urgent engagement\nelsewhere and galloped off suddenly.\n\nTyrion looked around. The enemy were all vanquished or vanished. Somehow the\nfighting had ended when he wasn’t looking. Dying horses and wounded men lay all\naround, screaming or moaning. To his vast astonishment, he was not one of them. He\nopened his fingers and let the axe thunk to the ground. His hands were sticky with\nblood. He could have sworn they had been fighting for half a day, but the sun seemed\nscarcely to have moved at all.\n\n“Your first battle?” Bronn asked later as he bent over Jyck’s body, pulling off his boots.\nThey were good boots, as befit one of Lord Tywin’s men; heavy leather, oiled and supple,\n"
## [310] "much finer than what Bronn was wearing.\n\nTyrion nodded. “My father will be so proud,” he said. His legs were cramping so badly he\ncould scarcely stand. Odd, he had never once noticed the pain during the battle.\n\n“You need a woman now,” Bronn said with a glint in his black eyes. He shoved the boots\ninto his saddlebag. “Nothing like a woman after a man’s been blooded, take my word.”\n\nChiggen stopped looting the corpses of the brigands long enough to snort and lick his\nlips.\n\nTyrion glanced over to where Lady Stark was dressing Ser Rodrik’s wounds. “I’m willing\nif she is,” he said. The freeriders broke into laughter, and Tyrion grinned and thought,\nThere’s a start.\n\nAfterward he knelt by the stream and washed the blood off his face in water cold as ice.\nAs he limped back to the others, he glanced again at the slain. The dead clansmen were\nthin, ragged men, their horses scrawny and undersized, with every rib showing. What\nweapons Bronn and Chiggen had left them were none too impressive. Mauls, clubs, a\nscythe . . . He remembered the big man in the shadowskin cloak who had dueled Ser\nRodrik with a two-handed greatsword, but when he found his corpse sprawled on the\nstony ground, the man was not so big after all, the cloak was gone, and Tyrion saw that\nthe blade was badly notched, its cheap steel spotted with rust. Small wonder the\nclansmen had left nine bodies on the ground.\n\nThey had only three dead; two of Lord Bracken’s men-at-arms, Kurleket and Mohor, and\nhis own man Jyck, who had made such a bold show with his bareback charge. A fool to\nthe end, Tyrion thought.\n\n“Lady Stark, I urge you to press on, with all haste,” Ser Willis Wode said, his eyes\nscanning the ridgetops warily through the slit in his helm. “We drove them off for the\nmoment, but they will not have gone far.”\n\n“We must bury our dead, Ser Willis,” she said. “These were brave men. I will not leave\nthem to the crows and shadowcats.”\n\n“This soil is too stony for digging,” Ser Willis said.\n\n“Then we shall gather stones for cairns.”\n\n“Gather all the stones you want,” Bronn told her, “but do it without me or Chiggen. I’ve\nbetter things to do than pile rocks on dead men . . . breathing, for one.” He looked over\n"
## [311] "the rest of the survivors. “Any of you who hope to be alive come nightfall, ride with us.”\n\n“My lady, I fear he speaks the truth,” Ser Rodrik said wearily. The old knight had been\nwounded in the fight, a deep gash in his left arm and a spear thrust that grazed his neck,\nand he sounded his age. “If we linger here, they will be on us again for a certainty, and\nwe may not live through a second attack.”\n\nTyrion could see the anger in Catelyn’s face, but she had no choice. “May the gods\nforgive us, then. We will ride at once.”\n\nThere was no shortage of horses now. Tyrion moved his saddle to Jyck’s spotted gelding,\nwho looked strong enough to last another three or four days at least. He was about to\nmount when Lharys stepped up and said, “I’ll take that dirk now, dwarf.”\n\n“Let him keep it.” Catelyn Stark looked down from her horse. “And see that he has his\naxe back as well. We may have need of it if we are attacked again.”\n\n“You have my thanks, lady,” Tyrion said, mounting up.\n\n“Save them,” she said curtly. “I trust you no more than I did before.” She was gone\nbefore he could frame a reply.\n\nTyrion adjusted his stolen helm and took the axe from Bronn. He remembered how he\nhad begun the journey, with his wrists bound and a hood pulled down over his head, and\ndecided that this was a definite improvement. Lady Stark could keep her trust; so long as\nhe could keep the axe, he would count himself ahead in the game.\n\nSer Willis Wode led them out. Bronn took the rear, with Lady Stark safely in the middle,\nSer Rodrik a shadow beside her. Marillion kept throwing sullen looks back at Tyrion as\nthey rode. The singer had broken several ribs, his woodharp, and all four fingers on his\nplaying hand, yet the day had not been an utter loss to him; somewhere he had acquired\na magnificent shadowskin cloak, thick black fur slashed by stripes of white. He huddled\nbeneath its folds silently, and for once had nothing to say.\n\nThey heard the deep growls of shadowcats behind them before they had gone half a mile,\nand later the wild snarling of the beasts fighting over the corpses they had left behind.\nMarillion grew visibly pale. Tyrion trotted up beside him. “Craven,” he said, “rhymes\nnicely with raven.” He kicked his horse and moved past the singer, up to Ser Rodrik and\nCatelyn Stark.\n\nShe looked at him, lips pressed tightly together.\n"
## [312] "“As I was saying before we were so rudely interrupted,” Tyrion began, “there is a serious\nflaw in Littlefinger’s fable. Whatever you may believe of me, Lady Stark, I promise you\nthis—I never bet against my family.”\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [313] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n ARYA\nThe one-eared black tom arched his back and hissed at her.\n\nArya padded down the alley, balanced lightly on the balls of her bare feet, listening to the\nflutter of her heart, breathing slow deep breaths. Quiet as a shadow, she told herself,\nlight as a feather. The tomcat watched her come, his eyes wary.\n\nCatching cats was hard. Her hands were covered with half-healed scratches, and both\nknees were scabbed over where she had scraped them raw in tumbles. At first even the\ncook’s huge fat kitchen cat had been able to elude her, but Syrio had kept her at it day\nand night. When she’d run to him with her hands bleeding, he had said, “So slow? Be\nquicker, girl. Your enemies will give you more than scratches.” He had dabbed her\nwounds with Myrish fire, which burned so bad she had had to bite her lip to keep from\nscreaming. Then he sent her out after more cats.\n\nThe Red Keep was full of cats: lazy old cats dozing in the sun, cold-eyed mousers\ntwitching their tails, quick little kittens with claws like needles, ladies’ cats all combed\nand trusting, ragged shadows prowling the midden heaps. One by one Arya had chased\nthem down and snatched them up and brought them proudly to Syrio Forel . . . all but\nthis one, this one-eared black devil of a tomcat. “That’s the real king of this castle right\nthere,” one of the gold cloaks had told her. “Older than sin and twice as mean. One time,\nthe king was feasting the queen’s father, and that black bastard hopped up on the table\nand snatched a roast quail right out of Lord Tywin’s fingers. Robert laughed so hard he\nlike to burst. You stay away from that one, child.”\n\nHe had run her halfway across the castle; twice around the Tower of the Hand, across\nthe inner bailey, through the stables, down the serpentine steps, past the small kitchen\nand the pig yard and the barracks of the gold cloaks, along the base of the river wall and\nup more steps and back and forth over Traitor’s Walk, and then down again and through\na gate and around a well and in and out of strange buildings until Arya didn’t know\nwhere she was.\n\nNow at last she had him. High walls pressed close on either side, and ahead was a blank\nwindowless mass of stone. Quiet as a shadow, she repeated, sliding forward, light as a\nfeather.\n"
## [314] "When she was three steps away from him, the tomcat bolted. Left, then right, he went;\nand right, then left, went Arya, cutting off his escape. He hissed again and tried to dart\nbetween her legs. Quick as a snake, she thought. Her hands closed around him. She\nhugged him to her chest, whirling and laughing aloud as his claws raked at the front of\nher leather jerkin. Ever so fast, she kissed him right between the eyes, and jerked her\nhead back an instant before his claws would have found her face. The tomcat yowled and\nspit.\n\n“What’s he doing to that cat?”\n\nStartled, Arya dropped the cat and whirled toward the voice. The tom bounded off in the\nblink of an eye. At the end of the alley stood a girl with a mass of golden curls, dressed as\npretty as a doll in blue satin. Beside her was a plump little blond boy with a prancing\nstag sewn in pearls across the front of his doublet and a miniature sword at his belt.\nPrincess Myrcella and Prince Tommen, Arya thought. A septa as large as a draft horse\nhovered over them, and behind her two big men in crimson cloaks, Lannister house\nguards.\n\n“What were you doing to that cat, boy?” Myrcella asked again, sternly. To her brother\nshe said, “He’s a ragged boy, isn’t he? Look at him.” She giggled.\n\n“A ragged dirty smelly boy,” Tommen agreed.\n\nThey don’t know me, Arya realized. They don’t even know I’m a girl. Small wonder; she\nwas barefoot and dirty, her hair tangled from the long run through the castle, clad in a\njerkin ripped by cat claws and brown roughspun pants hacked off above her scabby\nknees. You don’t wear skirts and silks when you’re catching cats. Quickly she lowered\nher head and dropped to one knee. Maybe they wouldn’t recognize her. If they did, she\nwould never hear the end of it. Septa Mordane would be mortified, and Sansa would\nnever speak to her again from the shame.\n\nThe old fat septa moved forward. “Boy, how did you come here? You have no business in\nthis part of the castle.”\n\n“You can’t keep this sort out,” one of the red cloaks said. “Like trying to keep out rats.”\n\n“Who do you belong to, boy?” the septa demanded. “Answer me. What’s wrong with you,\nare you mute?”\n\nArya’s voice caught in her throat. If she answered, Tommen and Myrcella would know\nher for certain.\n"
## [315] "“Godwyn, bring him here,” the septa said. The taller of the guardsmen started down the\nalley.\n\nPanic gripped her throat like a giant’s hand. Arya could not have spoken if her life had\nhung on it. Calm as still water, she mouthed silently.\n\nAs Godwyn reached for her, Arya moved. Quick as a snake. She leaned to her left, letting\nhis fingers brush her arm, spinning around him. Smooth as summer silk. By the time he\ngot himself turned, she was sprinting down the alley. Swift as a deer. The septa was\nscreeching at her. Arya slid between legs as thick and white as marble columns, bounded\nto her feet, bowled into Prince Tommen and hopped over him when he sat down hard\nand said “Oof,” spun away from the second guard, and then she was past them all,\nrunning full out.\n\nShe heard shouts, then pounding footsteps, closing behind her. She dropped and rolled.\nThe red cloak went careening past her, stumbling. Arya sprang back to her feet. She saw\na window above her, high and narrow, scarcely more than an arrow slit. Arya leapt,\ncaught the sill, pulled herself up. She held her breath as she wriggled through. Slippery\nas an eel. Dropping to the floor in front of a startled scrubwoman, she hopped up,\nbrushed the rushes off her clothes, and was off again, out the door and along a long hall,\ndown a stair, across a hidden courtyard, around a corner and over a wall and through a\nlow narrow window into a pitch-dark cellar. The sounds grew more and more distant\nbehind her.\n\nArya was out of breath and quite thoroughly lost. She was in for it now if they had\nrecognized her, but she didn’t think they had. She’d moved too fast. Swift as a deer.\n\nShe hunkered down in the dark against a damp stone wall and listened for the pursuit,\nbut the only sound was the beating of her own heart and a distant drip of water. Quiet as\na shadow, she told herself. She wondered where she was. When they had first come to\nKing’s Landing, she used to have bad dreams about getting lost in the castle. Father said\nthe Red Keep was smaller than Winterfell, but in her dreams it had been immense, an\nendless stone maze with walls that seemed to shift and change behind her. She would\nfind herself wandering down gloomy halls past faded tapestries, descending endless\ncircular stairs, darting through courtyards or over bridges, her shouts echoing\nunanswered. In some of the rooms the red stone walls would seem to drip blood, and\nnowhere could she find a window. Sometimes she would hear her father’s voice, but\nalways from a long way off, and no matter how hard she ran after it, it would grow\nfainter and fainter, until it faded to nothing and Arya was alone in the dark.\n\nIt was very dark right now, she realized. She hugged her bare knees tight against her\nchest and shivered. She would wait quietly and count to ten thousand. By then it would\n"
## [316] "be safe for her to come creeping back out and find her way home.\n\nBy the time she had reached eighty-seven, the room had begun to lighten as her eyes\nadjusted to the blackness. Slowly the shapes around her took on form. Huge empty eyes\nstared at her hungrily through the gloom, and dimly she saw the jagged shadows of long\nteeth. She had lost the count. She closed her eyes and bit her lip and sent the fear away.\nWhen she looked again, the monsters would be gone. Would never have been. She\npretended that Syrio was beside her in the dark, whispering in her ear. Calm as still\nwater, she told herself. Strong as a bear. Fierce as a wolverine. She opened her eyes\nagain.\n\nThe monsters were still there, but the fear was gone.\n\nArya got to her feet, moving warily. The heads were all around her. She touched one,\ncurious, wondering if it was real. Her fingertips brushed a massive jaw. It felt real\nenough. The bone was smooth beneath her hand, cold and hard to the touch. She ran her\nfingers down a tooth, black and sharp, a dagger made of darkness. It made her shiver.\n\n“It’s dead,” she said aloud. “It’s just a skull, it can’t hurt me.” Yet somehow the monster\nseemed to know she was there. She could feel its empty eyes watching her through the\ngloom, and there was something in that dim, cavernous room that did not love her. She\nedged away from the skull and backed into a second, larger than the first. For an instant\nshe could feel its teeth digging into her shoulder, as if it wanted a bite of her flesh. Arya\nwhirled, felt leather catch and tear as a huge fang nipped at her jerkin, and then she was\nrunning. Another skull loomed ahead, the biggest monster of all, but Arya did not even\nslow. She leapt over a ridge of black teeth as tall as swords, dashed through hungry jaws,\nand threw herself against the door.\n\nHer hands found a heavy iron ring set in the wood, and she yanked at it. The door\nresisted a moment, before it slowly began to swing inward, with a creak so loud Arya\nwas certain it could be heard all through the city. She opened the door just far enough to\nslip through, into the hallway beyond.\n\nIf the room with the monsters had been dark, the hall was the blackest pit in the seven\nhells. Calm as still water, Arya told herself, but even when she gave her eyes a moment\nto adjust, there was nothing to see but the vague grey outline of the door she had come\nthrough. She wiggled her fingers in front of her face, felt the air move, saw nothing. She\nwas blind. A water dancer sees with all her senses, she reminded herself. She closed her\neyes and steadied her breathing one two three, drank in the quiet, reached out with her\nhands.\n\nHer fingers brushed against rough unfinished stone to her left. She followed the wall, her\n"
## [317] "hand skimming along the surface, taking small gliding steps through the darkness. All\nhalls lead somewhere. Where there is a way in, there is a way out. Fear cuts deeper\nthan swords. Arya would not be afraid. It seemed as if she had been walking a long ways\nwhen the wall ended abruptly and a draft of cold air blew past her cheek. Loose hairs\nstirred faintly against her skin.\n\nFrom somewhere far below her, she heard noises. The scrape of boots, the distant sound\nof voices. A flickering light brushed the wall ever so faintly, and she saw that she stood at\nthe top of a great black well, a shaft twenty feet across plunging deep into the earth.\nHuge stones had been set into the curving walls as steps, circling down and down, dark\nas the steps to hell that Old Nan used to tell them of. And something was coming up out\nof the darkness, out of the bowels of the earth . . .\n\nArya peered over the edge and felt the cold black breath on her face. Far below, she saw\nthe light of a single torch, small as the flame of a candle. Two men, she made out. Their\nshadows writhed against the sides of the well, tall as giants. She could hear their voices,\nechoing up the shaft.\n\n“ . . . found one bastard,” one said. “The rest will come soon. A day, two days, a\nfortnight . . . ”\n\n“And when he learns the truth, what will he do?” a second voice asked in the liquid\naccents of the Free Cities.\n\n“The gods alone know,” the first voice said. Arya could see a wisp of grey smoke drifting\nup off the torch, writhing like a snake as it rose. “The fools tried to kill his son, and\nwhat’s worse, they made a mummer’s farce of it. He’s not a man to put that aside. I warn\nyou, the wolf and lion will soon be at each other’s throats, whether we will it or no.”\n\n“Too soon, too soon,” the voice with the accent complained. “What good is war now? We\nare not ready. Delay.”\n\n“As well bid me stop time. Do you take me for a wizard?”\n\nThe other chuckled. “No less.” Flames licked at the cold air. The tall shadows were\nalmost on top of her. An instant later the man holding the torch climbed into her sight,\nhis companion beside him. Arya crept back away from the well, dropped to her stomach,\nand flattened herself against the wall. She held her breath as the men reached the top of\nthe steps.\n\n“What would you have me do?” asked the torchbearer, a stout man in a leather half cape.\nEven in heavy boots, his feet seemed to glide soundlessly over the ground. A round\n"
## [318] "scarred face and a stubble of dark beard showed under his steel cap, and he wore mail\nover boiled leather, and a dirk and shortsword at his belt. It seemed to Arya there was\nsomething oddly familiar about him.\n\n“If one Hand can die, why not a second?” replied the man with the accent and the forked\nyellow beard. “You have danced the dance before, my friend.” He was no one Arya had\never seen before, she was certain of it. Grossly fat, yet he seemed to walk lightly, carrying\nhis weight on the balls of his feet as a water dancer might. His rings glimmered in the\ntorchlight, red-gold and pale silver, crusted with rubies, sapphires, slitted yellow tiger\neyes. Every finger wore a ring; some had two.\n\n“Before is not now, and this Hand is not the other,” the scarred man said as they stepped\nout into the hall. Still as stone, Arya told herself, quiet as a shadow. Blinded by the blaze\nof their own torch, they did not see her pressed flat against the stone, only a few feet\naway.\n\n“Perhaps so,” the forked beard replied, pausing to catch his breath after the long climb.\n“Nonetheless, we must have time. The princess is with child. The khal will not bestir\nhimself until his son is born. You know how they are, these savages.”\n\nThe man with the torch pushed at something. Arya heard a deep rumbling. A huge slab\nof rock, red in the torchlight, slid down out of the ceiling with a resounding crash that\nalmost made her cry out. Where the entry to the well had been was nothing but stone,\nsolid and unbroken.\n\n“If he does not bestir himself soon, it may be too late,” the stout man in the steel cap\nsaid. “This is no longer a game for two players, if ever it was. Stannis Baratheon and\nLysa Arryn have fled beyond my reach, and the whispers say they are gathering swords\naround them. The Knight of Flowers writes Highgarden, urging his lord father to send\nhis sister to court. The girl is a maid of fourteen, sweet and beautiful and tractable, and\nLord Renly and Ser Loras intend that Robert should bed her, wed her, and make a new\nqueen. Littlefinger . . . the gods only know what game Littlefinger is playing. Yet Lord\nStark’s the one who troubles my sleep. He has the bastard, he has the book, and soon\nenough he’ll have the truth. And now his wife has abducted Tyrion Lannister, thanks to\nLittlefinger’s meddling. Lord Tywin will take that for an outrage, and Jaime has a queer\naffection for the Imp. If the Lannisters move north, that will bring the Tullys in as well.\nDelay, you say. Make haste, I reply. Even the finest of jugglers cannot keep a hundred\nballs in the air forever.”\n\n“You are more than a juggler, old friend. You are a true sorcerer. All I ask is that you\nwork your magic awhile longer.” They started down the hall in the direction Arya had\ncome, past the room with the monsters.\n"
## [319] "“What I can do, I will,” the one with the torch said softly. “I must have gold, and another\nfifty birds.”\n\nShe let them get a long way ahead, then went creeping after them. Quiet as a shadow.\n\n“So many?” The voices were fainter as the light dwindled ahead of her. “The ones you\nneed are hard to find . . . so young, to know their letters . . . perhaps older . . . not die so\neasy . . . ”\n\n“No. The younger are safer . . . treat them gently . . . ”\n\n“ . . . .if they kept their tongues . . . ”\n\n“ . . . the risk . . . ”\n\nLong after their voices had faded away, Arya could still see the light of the torch, a\nsmoking star that bid her follow. Twice it seemed to disappear, but she kept on straight,\nand both times she found herself at the top of steep, narrow stairs, the torch glimmering\nfar below her. She hurried after it, down and down. Once she stumbled over a rock and\nfell against the wall, and her hand found raw earth supported by timbers, whereas before\nthe tunnel had been dressed stone.\n\nShe must have crept after them for miles. Finally they were gone, but there was no place\nto go but forward. She found the wall again and followed, blind and lost, pretending that\nNymeria was padding along beside her in the darkness. At the end she was knee-deep in\nfoul-smelling water, wishing she could dance upon it as Syrio might have, and\nwondering if she’d ever see light again. It was full dark when finally Arya emerged into\nthe night air.\n\nShe found herself standing at the mouth of a sewer where it emptied into the river. She\nstank so badly that she stripped right there, dropping her soiled clothing on the\nriverbank as she dove into the deep black waters. She swam until she felt clean, and\ncrawled out shivering. Some riders went past along the river road as Arya was washing\nher clothes, but if they saw the scrawny naked girl scrubbing her rags in the moonlight,\nthey took no notice.\n\nShe was miles from the castle, but from anywhere in King’s Landing you needed only to\nlook up to see the Red Keep high on Aegon’s Hill, so there was no danger of losing her\nway. Her clothes were almost dry by the time she reached the gatehouse. The portcullis\nwas down and the gates barred, so she turned aside to a postern door. The gold cloaks\nwho had the watch sneered when she told them to let her in. “Off with you,” one said.\n"
## [320] "“The kitchen scraps are gone, and we’ll have no begging after dark.”\n\n“I’m not a beggar,” she said. “I live here.”\n\n“I said, off with you. Do you need a clout on the ear to help your hearing?”\n\n“I want to see my father.”\n\nThe guards exchanged a glance. “I want to fuck the queen myself, for all the good it does\nme,” the younger one said.\n\nThe older scowled. “Who’s this father of yours, boy, the city ratcatcher?”\n\n“The Hand of the King,” Arya told him.\n\nBoth men laughed, but then the older one swung his fist at her, casually, as a man would\nswat a dog. Arya saw the blow coming even before it began. She danced back out of the\nway, untouched. “I’m not a boy,” she spat at them. “I’m Arya Stark of Winterfell, and if\nyou lay a hand on me my lord father will have both your heads on spikes. If you don’t\nbelieve me, fetch Jory Cassel or Vayon Poole from the Tower of the Hand.” She put her\nhands on her hips. “Now are you going to open the gate, or do you need a clout on the\near to help your hearing?”\n\nHer father was alone in the solar when Harwin and Fat Tom marched her in, an oil lamp\nglowing softly at his elbow. He was bent over the biggest book Arya had ever seen, a\ngreat thick tome with cracked yellow pages of crabbed script, bound between faded\nleather covers, but he closed it to listen to Harwin’s report. His face was stern as he sent\nthe men away with thanks.\n\n“You realize I had half my guard out searching for you?” Eddard Stark said when they\nwere alone. “Septa Mordane is beside herself with fear. She’s in the sept praying for your\nsafe return. Arya, you know you are never to go beyond the castle gates without my\nleave.”\n\n“I didn’t go out the gates,” she blurted. “Well, I didn’t mean to. I was down in the\ndungeons, only they turned into this tunnel. It was all dark, and I didn’t have a torch or a\ncandle to see by, so I had to follow. I couldn’t go back the way I came on account of the\nmonsters. Father, they were talking about killing you! Not the monsters, the two men.\nThey didn’t see me, I was being still as stone and quiet as a shadow, but I heard them.\nThey said you had a book and a bastard and if one Hand could die, why not a second? Is\nthat the book? Jon’s the bastard, I bet.”\n"
## [321] "“Jon? Arya, what are you talking about? Who said this?”\n\n“They did,” she told him. “There was a fat one with rings and a forked yellow beard, and\nanother in mail and a steel cap, and the fat one said they had to delay but the other one\ntold him he couldn’t keep juggling and the wolf and the lion were going to eat each other\nand it was a mummer’s farce.” She tried to remember the rest. She hadn’t quite\nunderstood everything she’d heard, and now it was all mixed up in her head. “The fat\none said the princess was with child. The one in the steel cap, he had the torch, he said\nthat they had to hurry. I think he was a wizard.”\n\n“A wizard,” said Ned, unsmiling. “Did he have a long white beard and tall pointed hat\nspeckled with stars?”\n\n“No! It wasn’t like Old Nan’s stories. He didn’t look like a wizard, but the fat one said he\nwas.”\n\n“I warn you, Arya, if you’re spinning this thread of air—”\n\n“No, I told you, it was in the dungeons, by the place with the secret wall. I was chasing\ncats, and well . . . ” She screwed up her face. If she admitted knocking over Prince\nTommen, he would be really angry with her. “ . . . well, I went in this window. That’s\nwhere I found the monsters.”\n\n“Monsters and wizards,” her father said. “It would seem you’ve had quite an adventure.\nThese men you heard, you say they spoke of juggling and mummery?”\n\n“Yes,” Arya admitted, “only—”\n\n“Arya, they were mummers,” her father told her. “There must be a dozen troupes in\nKing’s Landing right now, come to make some coin off the tourney crowds. I’m not\ncertain what these two were doing in the castle, but perhaps the king has asked for a\nshow.”\n\n“No.” She shook her head stubbornly. “They weren’t—”\n\n“You shouldn’t be following people about and spying on them in any case. Nor do I\ncherish the notion of my daughter climbing in strange windows after stray cats. Look at\nyou, sweetling. Your arms are covered with scratches. This has gone on long enough. Tell\nSyrio Forel that I want a word with hirn—”\n\nHe was interrupted by a short, sudden knock. “Lord Eddard, pardons,” Desmond called\nout, opening the door a crack, “but there’s a black brother here begging audience. He\n"
## [322] "says the matter is urgent. I thought you would want to know.”\n\n“My door is always open to the Night’s Watch,” Father said.\n\nDesmond ushered the man inside. He was stooped and ugly, with an unkempt beard and\nunwashed clothes, yet Father greeted him pleasantly and asked his name.\n\n“Yoren, as it please m’lord. My pardons for the hour.” He bowed to Arya. “And this must\nbe your son. He has your look.”\n\n“I’m a girl,” Arya said, exasperated. If the old man was down from the Wall, he must\nhave come by way of Winterfell. “Do you know my brothers?” she asked excitedly. “Robb\nand Bran are at Winterfell, and Jon’s on the Wall. Jon Snow, he’s in the Night’s Watch\ntoo, you must know him, he has a direwolf, a white one with red eyes. Is Jon a ranger\nyet? I’m Arya Stark.” The old man in his smelly black clothes was looking at her oddly,\nbut Arya could not seem to stop talking. “When you ride back to the Wall, would you\nbring Jon a letter if I wrote one?” She wished Jon were here right now. He’d believe her\nabout the dungeons and the fat man with the forked beard and the wizard in the steel\ncap.\n\n“My daughter often forgets her courtesies,” Eddard Stark said with a faint smile that\nsoftened his words. “I beg your forgiveness, Yoren. Did my brother Benjen send you?”\n\n“No one sent me, m’lord, saving old Mormont. I’m here to find men for the Wall, and\nwhen Robert next holds court, I’ll bend the knee and cry our need, see if the king and his\nHand have some scum in the dungeons they’d be well rid of. You might say as Benjen\nStark is why we’re talking, though. His blood ran black. Made him my brother as much\nas yours. It’s for his sake I’m come. Rode hard, I did, near killed my horse the way I\ndrove her, but I left the others well behind.”\n\n“The others?”\n\nYoren spat. “Sellswords and freeriders and like trash. That inn was full o’ them, and I\nsaw them take the scent. The scent of blood or the scent of gold, they smell the same in\nthe end. Not all o’ them made for King’s Landing, either. Some went galloping for\nCasterly Rock, and the Rock lies closer. Lord Tywin will have gotten the word by now,\nyou can count on it.”\n\nFather frowned. “What word is this?”\n\nYoren eyed Arya. “One best spoken in private, m’lord, begging your pardons.”\n"
## [323] "“As you say. Desmond, see my daughter to her chambers.” He kissed her on the brow.\n“We’ll finish our talk on the morrow.”\n\nArya stood rooted to the spot. “Nothing bad’s happened to Jon, has it?” she asked Yoren.\n“Or Uncle Benjen?”\n\n“Well, as to Stark, I can’t say. The Snow boy was well enough when I left the Wall. It’s\nnot them as concerns me.”\n\nDesmond took her hand. “Come along, milady. You heard your lord father.”\n\nArya had no choice but to go with him, wishing it had been Fat Tom. With Tom, she\nmight have been able to linger at the door on some excuse and hear what Yoren was\nsaying, but Desmond was too single-minded to trick. “How many guards does my father\nhave?” she asked him as they descended to her bedchamber.\n\n“Here at King’s Landing? Fifty.”\n\n“You wouldn’t let anyone kill him, would you?” she asked.\n\nDesmond laughed. “No fear on that count, little lady. Lord Eddard’s guarded night and\nday. He’ll come to no harm.”\n\n“The Lannisters have more than fifty men,” Arya pointed out.\n\n“So they do, but every northerner is worth ten of these southron swords, so you can sleep\neasy.”\n\n“What if a wizard was sent to kill him?”\n\n“Well, as to that,” Desmond replied, drawing his longsword, “wizards die the same as\nother men, once you cut their heads off.”\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [324] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n EDDARD\nRobert, I beg of you,” Ned pleaded, “hear what you are saying. You are talking of\nmurdering a child.”\n\n“The whore is pregnant!” The king’s fist slammed down on the council table loud as a\nthunderclap. “I warned you this would happen, Ned. Back in the barrowlands, I warned\nyou, but you did not care to hear it. Well, you’ll hear it now. I want them dead, mother\nand child both, and that fool Viserys as well. Is that plain enough for you? I want them\ndead.”\n\nThe other councillors were all doing their best to pretend that they were somewhere else.\nNo doubt they were wiser than he was. Eddard Stark had seldom felt quite so alone.\n“You will dishonor yourself forever if you do this.”\n\n“Then let it be on my head, so long as it is done. I am not so blind that I cannot see the\nshadow of the axe when it is hanging over my own neck.”\n\n“There is no axe,” Ned told his king. “Only the shadow of a shadow, twenty years\nremoved . . . if it exists at all.”\n\n“If?” Varys asked softly, wringing powdered hands together. “My lord, you wrong me.\nWould I bring ties to king and council?”\n\nNed looked at the eunuch coldly. “You would bring us the whisperings of a traitor half a\nworld away, my lord. Perhaps Mormont is wrong. Perhaps he is lying.”\n\n“Ser Jorah would not dare deceive me,” Varys said with a sly smile. “Rely on it, my lord.\nThe princess is with child.”\n\n“So you say. If you are wrong, we need not fear. If the girl miscarries, we need not fear. If\nshe births a daughter in place of a son, we need not fear. If the babe dies in infancy, we\nneed not fear.”\n\n“But if it is a boy?” Robert insisted. “If he lives?”\n\n“The narrow sea would still lie between us. I shall fear the Dothraki the day they teach\n"
## [325] "their horses to run on water.”\n\nThe king took a swallow of wine and glowered at Ned across the council table. “So you\nwould counsel me to do nothing until the dragonspawn has landed his army on my\nshores, is that it?”\n\n“This ‘dragonspawn’ is in his mother’s belly,” Ned said. “Even Aegon did no conquering\nuntil after he was weaned.”\n\n“Gods! You are stubborn as an aurochs, Stark.” The king looked around the council\ntable. “Have the rest of you mislaid your tongues? Will no one talk sense to this frozen-\nfaced fool?”\n\nVarys gave the king an unctuous smile and laid a soft hand on Ned’s sleeve. “I\nunderstand your qualms, Lord Eddard, truly I do. It gave me no joy to bring this\ngrievous news to council. It is a terrible thing we contemplate, a vile thing. Yet we who\npresume to rule must do vile things for the good of the realm, howevermuch it pains us.”\n\nLord Renly shrugged. “The matter seems simple enough to me. We ought to have had\nViserys and his sister killed years ago, but His Grace my brother made the mistake of\nlistening to Jon Arryn.”\n\n“Mercy is never a mistake, Lord Renly,” Ned replied. “On the Trident, Ser Barristan here\ncut down a dozen good men, Robert’s friends and mine. When they brought him to us,\ngrievously wounded and near death, Roose Bolton urged us to cut his throat, but your\nbrother said, ‘I will not kill a man for loyalty, nor for fighting well,’ and sent his own\nmaester to tend Ser Barristan’s wounds.” He gave the king a long cool look. “Would that\nman were here today.”\n\nRobert had shame enough to blush. “It was not the same,” he complained. “Ser Barristan\nwas a knight of the Kingsguard.”\n\n“Whereas Daenerys is a fourteen-year-old girl.” Ned knew he was pushing this well past\nthe point of wisdom, yet he could not keep silent. “Robert, I ask you, what did we rise\nagainst Aerys Targaryen for, if not to put an end to the murder of children?”\n\n“To put an end to Targaryens!” the king growled.\n\n“Your Grace, I never knew you to fear Rhaegar.” Ned fought to keep the scorn out of his\nvoice, and failed. “Have the years so unmanned you that you tremble at the shadow of an\nunborn child?”\n"
## [326] "Robert purpled. “No more, Ned,” he warned, pointing. “Not another word. Have you\nforgotten who is king here?”\n\n“No, Your Grace,” Ned replied. “Have you?”\n\n“Enough!” the king bellowed. “I am sick of talk. I’ll be done with this, or be damned.\nWhat say you all?”\n\n“She must be killed,” Lord Renly declared.\n\n“We have no choice,” murmured Varys. “Sadly, sadly . . . ”\n\nSer Barristan Selmy raised his pale blue eyes from the table and said, “Your Grace, there\nis honor in facing an enemy on the battlefield, but none in killing him in his mother’s\nwomb. Forgive me, but I must stand with Lord Eddard.”\n\nGrand Maester Pycelle cleared his throat, a process that seemed to take some minutes.\n“My order serves the realm, not the ruler. Once I counseled King Aerys as loyally as I\ncounsel King Robert now, so I bear this girl child of his no ill will. Yet I ask you this—\nshould war come again, how many soldiers will die? How many towns will burn? How\nmany children will be ripped from their mothers to perish on the end of a spear?” He\nstroked his luxuriant white beard, infinitely sad, infinitely weary. “Is it not wiser, even\nkinder, that Daenerys Targaryen should die now so that tens of thousands might live?”\n\n“Kinder,” Varys said. “Oh, well and truly spoken, Grand Maester. It is so true. Should the\ngods in their caprice grant Daenerys Targaryen a son, the realm must bleed.”\n\nLittlefinger was the last. As Ned looked to him, Lord Petyr stifled a yawn. “When you\nfind yourself in bed with an ugly woman, the best thing to do is close your eyes and get\non with it,” he declared. “Waiting won’t make the maid any prettier. Kiss her and be\ndone with it.”\n\n“Kiss her?” Ser Barristan repeated, aghast.\n\n“A steel kiss,” said Littlefinger.\n\nRobert turned to face his Hand. “Well, there it is, Ned. You and Selmy stand alone on\nthis matter. The only question that remains is, who can we find to kill her?”\n\n“Mormont craves a royal pardon,” Lord Renly reminded them.\n"
## [327] "“Desperately,” Varys said, “yet he craves life even more. By now, the princess nears Vaes\nDothrak, where it is death to draw a blade. If I told you what the Dothraki would do to\nthe poor man who used one on a khaleesi, none of you would sleep tonight.” He stroked\na powdered cheek. “Now, poison . . . the tears of Lys, let us say. Khal Drogo need never\nknow it was not a natural death.”\n\nGrand Maester Pycelle’s sleepy eyes flicked open. He squinted suspiciously at the\neunuch.\n\n“Poison is a coward’s weapon,” the king complained.\n\nNed had heard enough. “You send hired knives to kill a fourteen-year-old girl and still\nquibble about honor?” He pushed back his chair and stood. “Do it yourself, Robert. The\nman who passes the sentence should swing the sword. Look her in the eyes before you\nkill her. See her tears, hear her last words. You owe her that much at least.”\n\n“Gods,” the king swore, the word exploding out of him as if he could barely contain his\nfury. “You mean it, damn you.” He reached for the flagon of wine at his elbow, found it\nempty, and flung it away to shatter against the wall. “I am out of wine and out of\npatience. Enough of this. Just have it done.”\n\n“I will not be part of murder, Robert. Do as you will, but do not ask me to fix my seal to\nit.”\n\nFor a moment Robert did not seem to understand what Ned was saying. Defiance was\nnot a dish he tasted often. Slowly his face changed as comprehension came. His eyes\nnarrowed and a flush crept up his neck past the velvet collar. He pointed an angry finger\nat Ned. “You are the King’s Hand, Lord Stark. You will do as I command you, or I’ll find\nme a Hand who will.”\n\n“I wish him every success.” Ned unfastened the heavy clasp that clutched at the folds of\nhis cloak, the ornate silver hand that was his badge of office. He laid it on the table in\nfront of the king, saddened by the memory of the man who had pinned it on him, the\nfriend he had loved. “I thought you a better man than this, Robert. I thought we had\nmade a nobler king.”\n\nRobert’s face was purple. “Out,” he croaked, choking on his rage. “Out, damn you, I’m\ndone with you. What are you waiting for? Go, run back to Winterfell. And make certain I\nnever look on your face again, or I swear, I’ll have your head on a spike!”\n\nNed bowed, and turned on his heel without another word. He could feel Robert’s eyes on\nhis back. As he strode from the council chambers, the discussion resumed with scarcely\n"
## [328] "a pause. “On Braavos there is a society called the Faceless Men,” Grand Maester Pycelle\noffered.\n\n“Do you have any idea how costly they are?” Littlefinger complained. “You could hire an\narmy of common sellswords for half the price, and that’s for a merchant. I don’t dare\nthink what they might ask for a princess.”\n\nThe closing of the door behind him silenced the voices. Ser Boros Blount was stationed\noutside the chamber, wearing the long white cloak and armor of the Kingsguard. He\ngave Ned a quick, curious glance from the corner of his eye, but asked no questions.\n\nThe day felt heavy and oppressive as he crossed the bailey back to the Tower of the\nHand. He could feel the threat of rain in the air. Ned would have welcomed it. It might\nhave made him feel a trifle less unclean. When he reached his solar, he summoned\nVayon Poole. The steward came at once. “You sent for me, my lord Hand?”\n\n“Hand no longer,” Ned told him. “The king and I have quarreled. We shall be returning\nto Winterfell.”\n\n“I shall begin making arrangements at once, my lord. We will need a fortnight to ready\neverything for the journey.”\n\n“We may not have a fortnight. We may not have a day. The king mentioned something\nabout seeing my head on a spike.” Ned frowned. He did not truly believe the king would\nharm him, not Robert. He was angry now, but once Ned was safely out of sight, his rage\nwould cool as it always did.\n\nAlways? Suddenly, uncomfortably, he found himself recalling Rhaegar Targaryen.\nFifteen years dead, yet Robert hates him as much as ever. It was a disturbing\nnotion . . . and there was the other matter, the business with Catelyn and the dwarf that\nYoren had warned him of last night. That would come to light soon, as sure as sunrise,\nand with the king in such a black fury . . . Robert might not care a fig for Tyrion\nLannister, but it would touch on his pride, and there was no telling what the queen\nmight do.\n\n“It might be safest if I went on ahead,” he told Poole. “I will take my daughters and a few\nguardsmen. The rest of you can follow when you are ready. Inform Jory, but tell no one\nelse, and do nothing until the girls and I have gone. The castle is full of eyes and ears,\nand I would rather my plans were not known.”\n\n“As you command, my lord.”\n"
## [329] "When he had gone, Eddard Stark went to the window and sat brooding. Robert had left\nhim no choice that he could see. He ought to thank him. It would be good to return to\nWinterfell. He ought never have left. His sons were waiting there. Perhaps he and\nCatelyn would make a new son together when he returned, they were not so old yet. And\nof late he had often found himself dreaming of snow, of the deep quiet of the wolfswood\nat night.\n\nAnd yet, the thought of leaving angered him as well. So much was still undone. Robert\nand his council of cravens and flatterers would beggar the realm if left unchecked . . . or,\nworse, sell it to the Lannisters in payment of their loans. And the truth of Jon Arryn’s\ndeath still eluded him. Oh, he had found a few pieces, enough to convince him that Jon\nhad indeed been murdered, but that was no more than the spoor of an animal on the\nforest floor. He had not sighted the beast itself yet, though he sensed it was there,\nlurking, hidden, treacherous.\n\nIt struck him suddenly that he might return to Winterfell by sea. Ned was no sailor, and\nordinarily would have preferred the kingsroad, but if he took ship he could stop at\nDragonstone and speak with Stannis Baratheon. Pycelle had sent a raven off across the\nwater, with a polite letter from Ned requesting Lord Stannis to return to his seat on the\nsmall council. As yet, there had been no reply, but the silence only deepened his\nsuspicions. Lord Stannis shared the secret Jon Arryn had died for, he was certain of it.\nThe truth he sought might very well be waiting for him on the ancient island fortress of\nHouse Targaryen.\n\nAnd when you have it, what then? Some secrets are safer kept hidden. Some secrets are\ntoo dangerous to share, even with those you love and trust. Ned slid the dagger that\nCatelyn had brought him out of the sheath on his belt. The Imp’s knife. Why would the\ndwarf want Bran dead? To silence him, surely. Another secret, or only a different strand\nof the same web?\n\nCould Robert be part of it? He would not have thought so, but once he would not have\nthought Robert could command the murder of women and children either. Catelyn had\ntried to warn him. You knew the man, she had said. The king is a stranger to you. The\nsooner he was quit of King’s Landing, the better. If there was a ship sailing north on the\nmorrow, it would be well to be on it.\n\nHe summoned Vayon Poole again and sent him to the docks to make inquiries, quietly\nbut quickly. “Find me a fast ship with a skilled captain,” he told the steward. “I care\nnothing for the size of its cabins or the quality of its appointments, so long as it is swift\nand safe. I wish to leave at once.”\n\nPoole had no sooner taken his leave than Tomard announced a visitor. “Lord Baelish to\n"
## [330] "see you, m’lord.”\n\nNed was half-tempted to turn him away, but thought better of it. He was not free yet;\nuntil he was, he must play their games. “Show him in, Tom.”\n\nLord Petyr sauntered into the solar as if nothing had gone amiss that morning. He wore\na slashed velvet doublet in cream-and-silver, a grey silk cloak trimmed with black fox,\nand his customary mocking smile.\n\nNed greeted him coldly. “Might I ask the reason for this visit, Lord Baelish?”\n\n“I won’t detain you long, I’m on my way to dine with Lady Tanda. Lamprey pie and roast\nsuckling pig. She has some thought to wed me to her younger daughter, so her table is\nalways astonishing. If truth be told, I’d sooner marry the pig, but don’t tell her. I do love\nlamprey pie.”\n\n“Don’t let me keep you from your eels, my lord,” Ned said with icy disdain. “At the\nmoment, I cannot think of anyone whose company I desire less than yours.”\n\n“Oh, I’m certain if you put your mind to it, you could come up with a few names. Varys,\nsay. Cersei. Or Robert. His Grace is most wroth with you. He went on about you at some\nlength after you took your leave of us this morning. The words insolence and ingratitude\ncame into it frequently, I seem to recall.”\n\nNed did not honor that with a reply. Nor did he offer his guest a seat, but Littlefinger\ntook one anyway. “After you stormed out, it was left to me to convince them not to hire\nthe Faceless Men,” he continued blithely. “Instead Varys will quietly let it be known that\nwe’ll make a lord of whoever does in the Targaryen girl.”\n\nNed was disgusted. “So now we grant titles to assassins.”\n\nLittlefinger shrugged. “Titles are cheap. The Faceless Men are expensive. If truth be told,\nI did the Targaryen girl more good than you with all your talk of honor. Let some\nsellsword drunk on visions of lordship try to kill her. Likely he’ll make a botch of it, and\nafterward the Dothraki will be on their guard. If we’d sent a Faceless Man after her,\nshe’d be as good as buried.”\n\nNed frowned. “You sit in council and talk of ugly women and steel kisses, and now you\nexpect me to believe that you tried to protect the girl? How big a fool do you take me\nfor?”\n\n“Well, quite an enormous one, actually,” said Littlefinger, laughing.\n"
## [331] "“Do you always find murder so amusing, Lord Baelish?”\n\n“It’s not murder I find amusing, Lord Stark, it’s you. You rule like a man dancing on\nrotten ice. I daresay you will make a noble splash. I believe I heard the first crack this\nmorning.”\n\n“The first and last,” said Ned. “I’ve had my fill.”\n\n“When do you mean to return to Winterfell, my lord?”\n\n“As soon as I can. What concern is that of yours?”\n\n“None . . . but if perchance you’re still here come evenfall, I’d be pleased to take you to\nthis brothel your man Jory has been searching for so ineffectually.” Littlefinger smiled.\n“And I won’t even tell the Lady Catelyn.”\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [332] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n CATELYN\nMy lady, you should have sent word of your coming,” Ser Donnel Waynwood told her as\ntheir horses climbed the pass. “We would have sent an escort. The high road is not as\nsafe as it once was, for a party as small as yours.”\n\n“We learned that to our sorrow, Ser Donnel,” Catelyn said. Sometimes she felt as though\nher heart had turned to stone; six brave men had died to bring her this far, and she could\nnot even find it in her to weep for them. Even their names were fading. “The clansmen\nharried us day and night. We lost three men in the first attack, and two more in the\nsecond, and Lannister’s serving man died of a fever when his wounds festered. When we\nheard your men approaching, I thought us doomed for certain.” They had drawn up for a\nlast desperate fight, blades in hand and backs to the rock. The dwarf had been whetting\nthe edge of his axe and making some mordant jest when Bronn spotted the banner the\nriders carried before them, the moon-and-falcon of House Arryn, sky-blue and white.\nCatelyn had never seen a more welcome sight.\n\n“The clans have grown bolder since Lord Jon died,” Ser Donnel said. He was a stocky\nyouth of twenty years, earnest and homely, with a wide nose and a shock of thick brown\nhair. “If it were up to me, I would take a hundred men into the mountains, root them out\nof their fastnesses, and teach them some sharp lessons, but your sister has forbidden it.\nShe would not even permit her knights to fight in the Hand’s tourney. She wants all our\nswords kept close to home, to defend the Vale . . . against what, no one is certain.\nShadows, some say.” He looked at her anxiously, as if he had suddenly remembered who\nshe was. “I hope I have not spoken out of turn, my lady. I meant no offense.”\n\n“Frank talk does not offend me, Ser Donnel.” Catelyn knew what her sister feared. Not\nshadows, Lannisters, she thought to herself, glancing back to where the dwarf rode\nbeside Bronn. The two of them had grown thick as thieves since Chiggen had died. The\nlittle man was more cunning than she liked. When they had entered the mountains, he\nhad been her captive, bound and helpless. What was he now? Her captive still, yet he\nrode along with a dirk through his belt and an axe strapped to his saddle, wearing the\nshadowskin cloak he’d won dicing with the singer and the chainmail hauberk he’d taken\noff Chiggen’s corpse. Two score men flanked the dwarf and the rest of her ragged band,\nknights and men-at-arms in service to her sister Lysa and Jon Arryn’s young son, and\nyet Tyrion betrayed no hint of fear. Could I be wrong? Catelyn wondered, not for the\nfirst time. Could he be innocent after all, of Bran and Jon Arryn and all the rest? And if\nhe was, what did that make her? Six men had died to bring him here.\n"
## [333] "Resolute, she pushed her doubts away. “When we reach your keep, I would take it kindly\nif you could send for Maester Colemon at once. Ser Rodrik is feverish from his wounds.”\nMore than once she had feared the gallant old knight would not survive the journey.\nToward the end he could scarcely sit his horse, and Bronn had urged her to leave him to\nhis fate, but Catelyn would not hear of it. They had tied him in the saddle instead, and\nshe had commanded Marillion the singer to watch over him.\n\nSer Donnel hesitated before he answered. “The Lady Lysa has commanded the maester\nto remain at the Eyrie at all times, to care for Lord Robert,” he said. “We have a septon at\nthe gate who tends to our wounded. He can see to your man’s hurts.”\n\nCatelyn had more faith in a maester’s learning than a septon’s prayers. She was about to\nsay as much when she saw the battlements ahead, long parapets built into the very stone\nof the mountains on either side of them. Where the pass shrank to a narrow defile scarce\nwide enough for four men to ride abreast, twin watchtowers clung to the rocky slopes,\njoined by a covered bridge of weathered grey stone that arched above the road. Silent\nfaces watched from arrow slits in tower, battlements, and bridge. When they had\nclimbed almost to the top, a knight rode out to meet them. His horse and his armor were\ngrey, but his cloak was the rippling blue-and-red of Riverrun, and a shiny black fish,\nwrought in gold and obsidian, pinned its folds against his shoulder. “Who would pass\nthe Bloody Gate?” he called.\n\n“Ser Donnel Waynwood, with the Lady Catelyn Stark and her companions,” the young\nknight answered.\n\nThe Knight of the Gate lifted his visor. “I thought the lady looked familiar. You are far\nfrom home, little Cat.”\n\n“And you, Uncle,” she said, smiling despite all she had been through. Hearing that\nhoarse, smoky voice again took her back twenty years, to the days of her childhood.\n\n“My home is at my back,” he said gruffly.\n\n“Your home is in my heart,” Catelyn told him. “Take off your helm. I would look on your\nface again.”\n\n“The years have not improved it, I fear,” Brynden Tully said, but when he lifted off the\nhelm, Catelyn saw that he lied. His features were lined and weathered, and time had\nstolen the auburn from his hair and left him only grey, but the smile was the same, and\nthe bushy eyebrows fat as caterpillars, and the laughter in his deep blue eyes. “Did Lysa\nknow you were coming?”\n"
## [334] "“There was no time to send word ahead,” Catelyn told him. The others were coming up\nbehind her. “I fear we ride before the storm, Uncle.”\n\n“May we enter the Vale?” Ser Donnel asked. The Waynwoods were ever ones for\nceremony.\n\n“In the name of Robert Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie, Defender of the Vale, True Warden of\nthe East, I bid you enter freely, and charge you to keep his peace,” Ser Brynden replied.\n“Come.”\n\nAnd so she rode behind him, beneath the shadow of the Bloody Gate where a dozen\narmies had dashed themselves to pieces in the Age of Heroes. On the far side of the\nstoneworks, the mountains opened up suddenly upon a vista of green fields, blue sky,\nand snowcapped mountains that took her breath away. The Vale of Arryn bathed in the\nmorning light.\n\nIt stretched before them to the misty cast, a tranquil land of rich black soil, wide slow-\nmoving rivers, and hundreds of small lakes that shone like mirrors in the sun, protected\non all sides by its sheltering peaks. Wheat and corn and barley grew high in its fields,\nand even in Highgarden the pumpkins were no larger nor the fruit any sweeter than\nhere. They stood at the western end of the valley, where the high road crested the last\npass and began its winding descent to the bottomlands two miles below. The Vale was\nnarrow here, no more than a half day’s ride across, and the northern mountains seemed\nso close that Catelyn could almost reach out and touch them. Looming over them all was\nthe jagged peak called the Giant’s Lance, a mountain that even mountains looked up to,\nits head lost in icy mists three and a half miles above the valley floor. Over its massive\nwestern shoulder flowed the ghost torrent of Alyssa’s Tears. Even from this distance,\nCatelyn could make out the shining silver thread, bright against the dark stone.\n\nWhen her uncle saw that she had stopped, he moved his horse closer and pointed. “It’s\nthere, beside Alyssa’s Tears. All you can see from here is a flash of white every now and\nthen, if you look hard and the sun hits the walls just right.”\n\nSeven towers, Ned had told her, like white daggers thrust into the belly of the sky, so\nhigh you can stand on the parapets and look down on the clouds. “How long a ride?”\nshe asked.\n\n“We can be at the mountain by evenfall,” Uncle Brynden said, “but the climb will take\nanother day.”\n\nSer Rodrik Cassel spoke up from behind. “My lady,” he said, “I fear I can go no farther\n"
## [335] "today.” His face sagged beneath his ragged, newgrown whiskers, and he looked so weary\nCatelyn feared he might fall off his horse.\n\n“Nor should you,” she said. “You have done all I could have asked of you, and a hundred\ntimes more. My uncle will see me the rest of the way to the Eyrie. Lannister must come\nwith me, but there is no reason that you and the others should not rest here and recover\nyour strength.”\n\n“We should be honored to have them to guest,” Ser Donnel said with the grave courtesy\nof the young. Beside Ser Rodrik, only Bronn, Ser Willis Wode, and Marillion the singer\nremained of the party that had ridden with her from the inn by the crossroads.\n\n“My lady,” Marillion said, riding forward. “I beg you allow me to accompany you to the\nEyrie, to see the end of the tale as I saw its beginnings.” The boy sounded haggard, yet\nstrangely determined; he had a fevered shine to his eyes.\n\nCatelyn had never asked the singer to ride with them; that choice he had made himself,\nand how he had come to survive the journey when so many braver men lay dead and\nunburied behind them, she could never say. Yet here he was, with a scruff of beard that\nmade him look almost a man. Perhaps she owed him something for having come this far.\n“Very well,” she told him.\n\n“I’ll come as well,” Bronn announced.\n\nShe liked that less well. Without Bronn she would never have reached the Vale, she\nknew; the sellsword was as fierce a fighter as she had ever seen, and his sword had\nhelped cut them through to safety. Yet for all that, Catelyn misliked the man. Courage he\nhad, and strength, but there was no kindness in him, and little loyalty. And she had seen\nhim riding beside Lannister far too often, talking in low voices and laughing at some\nprivate joke. She would have preferred to separate him from the dwarf here and now,\nbut having agreed that Marillion might continue to the Eyrie, she could see no gracious\nway to deny that same right to Bronn. “As you wish,” she said, although she noted that\nhe had not actually asked her permission.\n\nSer Willis Wode remained with Ser Rodrik, a soft-spoken septon fussing over their\nwounds. Their horses were left behind as well, poor ragged things. Ser Donnel promised\nto send birds ahead to the Eyrie and the Gates of the Moon with the word of their\ncoming. Fresh mounts were brought forth from the stables, surefooted mountain stock\nwith shaggy coats, and within the hour they set forth once again. Catelyn rode beside her\nuncle as they began the descent to the valley floor. Behind came Bronn, Tyrion\nLannister, Marillion, and six of Brynden’s men.\n"
## [336] "Not until they were a third of the way down the mountain path, well out of earshot of the\nothers, did Brynden Tully turn to her and say, “So, child. Tell me about this storm of\nyours.”\n\n“I have not been a child in many years, Uncle,” Catelyn said, but she told him\nnonetheless. It took longer than she would have believed to tell it all, Lysa’s letter and\nBran’s fall, the assassin’s dagger and Littlefinger and her chance meeting with Tyrion\nLannister in the crossroads inn.\n\nHer uncle listened silently, heavy brows shadowing his eyes as his frown grew deeper.\nBrynden Tully had always known how to listen . . . to anyone but her father. He was Lord\nHoster’s brother, younger by five years, but the two of them had been at war as far back\nas Catelyn could remember. During one of their louder quarrels, when Catelyn was\neight, Lord Hoster had called Brynden “the black goat of the Tully flock.” Laughing,\nBrynden had pointed out that the sigil of their house was a leaping trout, so he ought to\nbe a black fish rather than a black goat, and from that day forward he had taken it as his\npersonal emblem.\n\nThe war had not ended until the day she and Lysa had been wed. It was at their wedding\nfeast that Brynden told his brother he was leaving Riverrun to serve Lysa and her new\nhusband, the Lord of the Eyrie. Lord Hoster had not spoken his brother’s name since,\nfrom what Edmure told her in his infrequent letters.\n\nNonetheless, during all those years of Catelyn’s girlhood, it had been Brynden the\nBlackfish to whom Lord Hoster’s children had run with their tears and their tales, when\nFather was too busy and Mother too ill. Catelyn, Lysa, Edmure . . . and yes, even Petyr\nBaelish, their father’s ward . . . he had listened to them all patiently, as he listened now,\nlaughing at their triumphs and sympathizing with their childish misfortunes.\n\nWhen she was done, her uncle remained silent for a long time, as his horse negotiated\nthe steep, rocky trail. “Your father must be told,” he said at last. “If the Lannisters should\nmarch, Winterfell is remote and the Vale walled up behind its mountains, but Riverrun\nlies right in their path.”\n\n“I’d had the same fear,” Catelyn admitted. “I shall ask Maester Colemon to send a bird\nwhen we reach the Eyrie.” She had other messages to send as well; the commands that\nNed had given her for his bannermen, to ready the defenses of the north. “What is the\nmood in the Vale?” she asked.\n\n“Angry,” Brynden Tully admitted. “Lord Jon was much loved, and the insult was keenly\nfelt when the king named Jaime Lannister to an office the Arryns had held for near three\nhundred years. Lysa has commanded us to call her son the True Warden of the East, but\n"
## [337] "no one is fooled. Nor is your sister alone in wondering at the manner of the Hand’s\ndeath. None dare say Jon was murdered, not openly, but suspicion casts a long shadow.”\nHe gave Catelyn a look, his mouth tight. “And there is the boy.”\n\n“The boy? What of him?” She ducked her head as they passed under a low overhang of\nrock, and around a sharp turn.\n\nHer uncle’s voice was troubled. “Lord Robert,” he sighed. “Six years old, sickly, and\nprone to weep if you take his dolls away. Jon Arryn’s trueborn heir, by all the gods, yet\nthere are some who say he is too weak to sit his father’s seat, Nestor Royce has been high\nsteward these past fourteen years, while Lord Jon served in King’s Landing, and many\nwhisper that he should rule until the boy comes of age. Others believe that Lysa must\nmarry again, and soon. Already the suitors gather like crows on a battlefield. The Eyrie is\nfull of them.”\n\n“I might have expected that,” Catelyn said. Small wonder there; Lysa was still young, and\nthe kingdom of Mountain and Vale made a handsome wedding gift. “Will Lysa take\nanother husband?”\n\n“She says yes, provided she finds a man who suits her,” Brynden Tully said, “but she has\nalready rejected Lord Nestor and a dozen other suitable men. She swears that this time\nshe will choose her lord husband.”\n\n“You of all people can scarce fault her for that.”\n\nSer Brynden snorted. “Nor do I, but . . . it seems to me Lysa is only playing at courtship.\nShe enjoys the sport, but I believe your sister intends to rule herself until her boy is old\nenough to be Lord of the Eyrie in truth as well as name.”\n\n“A woman can rule as wisely as a man,” Catelyn said.\n\n“The right woman can,” her uncle said with a sideways glance. “Make no mistake, Cat.\nLysa is not you.” He hesitated a moment. “If truth be told, I fear you may not find your\nsister as helpful as you would like.”\n\nShe was puzzled. “What do you mean?”\n\n“The Lysa who came back from King’s Landing is not the same girl who went south when\nher husband was named Hand. Those years were hard for her. You must know. Lord\nArryn was a dutiful husband, but their marriage was made from politics, not passion.”\n\n“As was my own.”\n"
## [338] "“They began the same, but your ending has been happier than your sister’s. Two babes\nstillborn, twice as many miscarriages, Lord Arryn’s death . . . Catelyn, the gods gave Lysa\nonly the one child, and he is all your sister lives for now, poor boy. Small wonder she fled\nrather than see him handed over to the Lannisters. Your sister is afraid, child, and the\nLannisters are what she fears most. She ran to the Vale, stealing away from the Red Keep\nlike a thief in the night, and all to snatch her son out of the lion’s mouth . . . and now you\nhave brought the lion to her door.”\n\n“In chains,” Catelyn said. A crevasse yawned on her right, falling away into darkness.\nShe reined up her horse and picked her way along step by careful step.\n\n“Oh?” Her uncle glanced back, to where Tyrion Lannister was making his slow descent\nbehind them. “I see an axe on his saddle, a dirk at his belt, and a sellsword that trails\nafter him like a hungry shadow. Where are the chains, sweet one?”\n\nCatelyn shifted uneasily in her seat. “The dwarf is here, and not by choice. Chains or no,\nhe is my prisoner. Lysa will want him to answer for his crimes no less than I. It was her\nown lord husband the Lannisters murdered, and her own letter that first warned us\nagainst them.”\n\nBrynden Blackfish gave her a weary smile. “I hope you are right, child,” he sighed, in\ntones that said she was wrong.\n\nThe sun was well to the west by the time the slope began to flatten beneath the hooves of\ntheir horses. The road widened and grew straight, and for the first time Catelyn noticed\nwildflowers and grasses growing. Once they reached the valley floor, the going was faster\nand they made good time, cantering through verdant greenwoods and sleepy little\nhamlets, past orchards and golden wheat fields, splashing across a dozen sunlit streams.\nHer uncle sent a standard-bearer ahead of them, a double banner flying from his staff;\nthe moon-and-falcon of House Arryn on high, and below it his own black fish. Farm\nwagons and merchants’ carts and riders from lesser houses moved aside to let them pass.\n\nEven so, it was full dark before they reached the stout castle that stood at the foot of the\nGiant’s Lance. Torches flickered atop its ramparts, and the horned moon danced upon\nthe dark waters of its moat. The drawbridge was up and the portcullis down, but Catelyn\nsaw lights burning in the gatehouse and spilling from the windows of the square towers\nbeyond.\n\n“The Gates of the Moon,” her uncle said as the party drew rein. His standard-bearer rode\nto the edge of the moat to hail the men in the gatehouse. “Lord Nestor’s seat. He should\nbe expecting us. Look up.”\n"
## [339] "Catelyn raised her eyes, up and up and up. At first all she saw was stone and trees, the\nlooming mass of the great mountain shrouded in night, as black as a starless sky. Then\nshe noticed the glow of distant fires well above them; a tower keep, built upon the steep\nside of the mountain, its lights like orange eyes staring down from above. Above that was\nanother, higher and more distant, and still higher a third, no more than a flickering\nspark in the sky. And finally, up where the falcons soared, a flash of white in the\nmoonlight. Vertigo washed over her as she stared upward at the pale towers, so far\nabove.\n\n“The Eyrie,” she heard Marillion murmur, awed.\n\nThe sharp voice of Tyrion Lannister broke in. “The Arryns must not be overfond of\ncompany. If you’re planning to make us climb that mountain in the dark, I’d rather you\nkill me here.”\n\n“We’ll spend the night here and make the ascent on the morrow,” Brynden told him.\n\n“I can scarcely wait,” the dwarf replied. “How do we get up there? I’ve no experience at\nriding goats.”\n\n“Mules,” Brynden said, smiling.\n\n“There are steps carved into the mountain,” Catelyn said. Ned had told her about them\nwhen he talked of his youth here with Robert Baratheon and Jon Arryn.\n\nHer uncle nodded. “It is too dark to see them, but the steps are there. Too steep and\nnarrow for horses, but mules can manage them most of the way. The path is guarded by\nthree waycastles, Stone and Snow and Sky. The mules will take us as far up as Sky.”\n\nTyrion Lannister glanced up doubtfully. “And beyond that?”\n\nBrynden smiled. “Beyond that, the path is too steep even for mules. We ascend on foot\nthe rest of the way. Or perchance you’d prefer to ride a basket. The Eyrie clings to the\nmountain directly above Sky, and in its cellars are six great winches with long iron\nchains to draw supplies up from below. If you prefer, my lord of Lannister, I can arrange\nfor you to ride up with the bread and beer and apples.”\n\nThe dwarf gave a bark of laughter. “Would that I were a pumpkin,” he said. “Alas, my\nlord father would no doubt be most chagrined if his son of Lannister went to his fate like\na load of turnips. If you ascend on foot, I fear I must do the same. We Lannisters do have\na certain pride.”\n"
## [340] "“Pride?” Catelyn snapped. His mocking tone and easy manner made her angry.\n“Arrogance, some might call it. Arrogance and avarice and lust for power.”\n\n“My brother is undoubtedly arrogant,” Tyrion Lannister replied. “My father is the soul of\navarice, and my sweet sister Cersei lusts for power with every waking breath. I, however,\nam innocent as a little lamb. Shall I bleat for you?” He grinned.\n\nThe drawbridge came creaking down before she could reply, and they heard the sound of\noiled chains as the portcullis was drawn up. Men-at-arms carried burning brands out to\nlight their way, and her uncle led them across the moat. Lord Nestor Royce, High\nSteward of the Vale and Keeper of the Gates of the Moon, was waiting in the yard to\ngreet them, surrounded by his knights. “Lady Stark,” he said, bowing. He was a massive,\nbarrel-chested man, and his bow was clumsy.\n\nCatelyn dismounted to stand before him. “Lord Nestor,” she said. She knew the man\nonly by reputation; Bronze Yohn’s cousin, from a lesser branch of House Royce, yet still\na formidable lord in his own right. “We have had a long and tiring journey. I would beg\nthe hospitality of your roof tonight, if I might.”\n\n“My roof is yours, my lady,” Lord Nestor returned gruffly, “but your sister the Lady Lysa\nhas sent down word from the Eyrie. She wishes to see you at once. The rest of your party\nwill be housed here and sent up at first light.”\n\nHer uncle swung off his horse. “What madness is this?” he said bluntly. Brynden Tully\nhad never been a man to blunt the edge of his words. “A night ascent, with the moon not\neven full? Even Lysa should know that’s an invitation to a broken neck.”\n\n“The mules know the way, Ser Brynden.” A wiry girl of seventeen or eighteen years\nstepped up beside Lord Nestor. Her dark hair was cropped short and straight around her\nhead, and she wore riding leathers and a light shirt of silvered ringmail. She bowed to\nCatelyn, more gracefully than her lord. “I promise you, my lady, no harm will come to\nyou. It would be my honor to take you up. I’ve made the dark climb a hundred times.\nMychel says my father must have been a goat.”\n\nShe sounded so cocky that Catelyn had to smile. “Do you have a name, child?”\n\n“Mya Stone, if it please you, my lady,” the girl said.\n\nIt did not please her; it was an effort for Catelyn to keep the smile on her face. Stone was\na bastard’s name in the Vale, as Snow was in the north, and Flowers in Highgarden; in\neach of the Seven Kingdoms, custom had fashioned a surname for children born with no\n"
## [341] "names of their own. Catelyn had nothing against this girl, but suddenly she could not\nhelp but think of Ned’s bastard on the Wall, and the thought made her angry and guilty,\nboth at once. She struggled to find words for a reply.\n\nLord Nestor filled the silence. “Mya’s a clever girl, and if she vows she will bring you\nsafely to the Lady Lysa, I believe her. She has not failed me yet.”\n\n“Then I put myself in your hands, Mya Stone,” Catelyn said. “Lord Nestor, I charge you\nto keep a close guard on my prisoner.”\n\n“And I charge you to bring the prisoner a cup of wine and a nicely crisped capon, before\nhe dies of hunger,” Lannister said. “A girl would be pleasant as well, but I suppose that’s\ntoo much to ask of you.” The sellsword Bronn laughed aloud.\n\nLord Nestor ignored the banter. “As you say, my lady, so it will be done.” Only then did\nhe look at the dwarf. “See our lord of Lannister to a tower cell, and bring him meat and\nmead.”\n\nCatelyn took her leave of her uncle and the others as Tyrion Lannister was led off, then\nfollowed the bastard girl through the castle. Two mules were waiting in the upper bailey,\nsaddled and ready. Mya helped her mount one while a guardsman in a sky-blue cloak\nopened the narrow postern gate. Beyond was dense forest of pine and spruce, and the\nmountain like a black wall, but the steps were there, chiseled deep into the rock,\nascending into the sky. “Some people find it easier if they close their eyes,” Mya said as\nshe led the mules through the gate into the dark wood. “When they get frightened or\ndizzy, sometimes they hold on to the mule too tight. They don’t like that.”\n\n“I was born a Tully and wed to a Stark,” Catelyn said. “I do not frighten easily. Do you\nplan to light a torch?” The steps were black as pitch.\n\nThe girl made a face. “Torches just blind you. On a clear night like this, the moon and\nthe stars are enough. Mychel says I have the eyes of the owl.” She mounted and urged\nher mule up the first step. Catelyn’s animal followed of its own accord.\n\n“You mentioned Mychel before,” Catelyn said. The mules set the pace, slow but steady.\nShe was perfectly content with that.\n\n“Mychel’s my love,” Mya explained. “Mychel Redfort. He’s squire to Ser Lyn Corbray.\nWe’re to wed as soon as he becomes a knight, next year or the year after.”\n\nShe sounded so like Sansa, so happy and innocent with her dreams. Catelyn smiled, but\nthe smile was tinged with sadness. The Redforts were an old name in the Vale, she knew,\n"
## [342] "with the blood of the First Men in their veins. His love she might be, but no Redfort\nwould ever wed a bastard. His family would arrange a more suitable match for him, to a\nCorbray or a Waynwood or a Royce, or perhaps a daughter of some greater house\noutside the Vale. If Mychel Redfort laid with this girl at all, it would be on the wrong side\nof the sheet.\n\nThe ascent was easier than Catelyn had dared hope. The trees pressed close, leaning over\nthe path to make a rustling green roof that shut out even the moon, so it seemed as\nthough they were moving up a long black tunnel. But the mules were surefooted and\ntireless, and Mya Stone did indeed seem blessed with night-eyes. They plodded upward,\nwinding their way back and forth across the face of the mountain as the steps twisted\nand turned. A thick layer of fallen needles carpeted the path, so the shoes of their mules\nmade only the softest sound on the rock. The quiet soothed her, and the gentle rocking\nmotion set Catelyn to swaying in her saddle. Before long she was fighting sleep.\n\nPerhaps she did doze for a moment, for suddenly a massive ironbound gate was looming\nbefore them. “Stone,” Mya announced cheerily, dismounting. Iron spikes were set along\nthe tops of formidable stone walls, and two fat round towers overtopped the keep. The\ngate swung open at Mya’s shout. Inside, the portly knight who commanded the\nwaycastle greeted Mya by name and offered them skewers of charred meat and onions\nstill hot from the spit. Catelyn had not realized how hungry she was. She ate standing in\nthe yard, as stablehands moved their saddles to fresh mules. The hot juices ran down her\nchin and dripped onto her cloak, but she was too famished to care.\n\nThen it was up onto a new mule and out again into the starlight. The second part of the\nascent seemed more treacherous to Catelyn. The trail was steeper, the steps more worn,\nand here and there littered with pebbles and broken stone. Mya had to dismount a half-\ndozen times to move fallen rocks from their path. “You don’t want your mule to break a\nleg up here,” she said. Catelyn was forced to agree. She could feel the altitude more now.\nThe trees were sparser up here, and the wind blew more vigorously, sharp gusts that\ntugged at her clothing and pushed her hair into her eyes. From time to time the steps\ndoubled back on themselves, and she could see Stone below them, and the Gates of the\nMoon farther down, its torches no brighter than candles.\n\nSnow was smaller than Stone, a single fortified tower and a timber keep and stable\nhidden behind a low wall of unmortared rock. Yet it nestled against the Giant’s Lance in\nsuch a way as to command the entire stone stair above the lower waycastle. An enemy\nintent on the Eyrie would have to fight his way from Stone step by step, while rocks and\narrows rained down from Snow above. The commander, an anxious young knight with a\npockmarked face, offered bread and cheese and the chance to warm themselves before\nhis fire, but Mya declined. “We ought to keep going, my lady,” she said. “If it please you.”\nCatelyn nodded.\n"
## [343] "Again they were given fresh mules. Hers was white. Mya smiled when she saw him.\n“Whitey’s a good one, my lady. Sure of foot, even on ice, but you need to be careful. He’ll\nkick if he doesn’t like you.”\n\nThe white mule seemed to like Catelyn; there was no kicking, thank the gods. There was\nno ice either, and she was grateful for that as well. “My mother says that hundreds of\nyears ago, this was where the snow began,” Mya told her. “It was always white above\nhere, and the ice never melted.” She shrugged. “I can’t remember ever seeing snow this\nfar down the mountain, but maybe it was that way once, in the olden times.”\n\nSo young, Catelyn thought, trying to remember if she had ever been like that. The girl\nhad lived half her life in summer, and that was all she knew. Winter is coming, child, she\nwanted to tell her. The words were on her lips; she almost said them. Perhaps she was\nbecoming a Stark at last.\n\nAbove Snow, the wind was a living thing, howling around them like a wolf in the waste,\nthen falling off to nothing as if to lure them into complacency. The stars seemed brighter\nup here, so close that she could almost touch them, and the horned moon was huge in\nthe clear black sky. As they climbed, Catelyn found it was better to look up than down.\nThe steps were cracked and broken from centuries of freeze and thaw and the tread of\ncountless mules, and even in the dark the heights put her heart in her throat. When they\ncame to a high saddle between two spires of rock, Mya dismounted. “It’s best to lead the\nmules over,” she said. “The wind can be a little scary here, my lady.”\n\nCatelyn climbed stiffly from the shadows and looked at the path ahead; twenty feet long\nand close to three feet wide, but with a precipitous drop to either side. She could hear\nthe wind shrieking. Mya stepped lightly out, her mule following as calmly as if they were\ncrossing a bailey. It was her turn. Yet no sooner had she taken her first step than fear\ncaught Catelyn in its jaws. She could feel the emptiness, the vast black gulfs of air that\nyawned around her. She stopped, trembling, afraid to move. The wind screamed at her\nand wrenched at her cloak, trying to pull her over the edge. Catelyn edged her foot\nbackward, the most timid of steps, but the mule was behind her, and she could not\nretreat. I am going to die here, she thought. She could feel cold sweat trickling down her\nback.\n\n“Lady Stark,” Mya called across the gulf. The girl sounded a thousand leagues away. “Are\nyou well?”\n\nCatelyn Tully Stark swallowed what remained of her pride. “I . . . I cannot do this, child,”\nshe called out.\n\n“Yes you can,” the bastard girl said. “I know you can. Look how wide the path is.”\n"
## [344] "“I don’t want to look.” The world seemed to be spinning around her, mountain and sky\nand mules, whirling like a child’s top. Catelyn closed her eyes to steady her ragged\nbreathing.\n\n“I’ll come back for you,” Mya said. “Don’t move, my lady.”\n\nMoving was about the last thing Catelyn was about to do. She listened to the skirling of\nthe wind and the scuffling sound of leather on stone. Then Mya was there, taking her\ngently by the arm. “Keep your eyes closed if you like. Let go of the rope now, Whitey will\ntake care of himself. Very good, my lady. I’ll lead you over, it’s easy, you’ll see. Give me a\nstep now. That’s it, move your foot, just slide it forward. See. Now another. Easy. You\ncould run across. Another one, go on. Yes.” And so, foot by foot, step by step, the bastard\ngirl led Catelyn across, blind and trembling, while the white mule followed placidly\nbehind them.\n\nThe waycastle called Sky was no more than a high, crescent-shaped wall of unmortared\nstone raised against the side of the mountain, but even the topless towers of Valyria\ncould not have looked more beautiful to Catelyn Stark. Here at last the snow crown\nbegan; Sky’s weathered stones were rimed with frost, and long spears of ice hung from\nthe slopes above.\n\nDawn was breaking in the east as Mya Stone hallooed for the guards, and the gates\nopened before them. Inside the walls there was only a series of ramps and a great tumble\nof boulders and stones of all sizes. No doubt it would be the easiest thing in the world to\nbegin an avalanche from here. A mouth yawned in the rock face in front of them. “The\nstables and barracks are in there,” Mya said. “The last part is inside the mountain. It can\nbe a little dark, but at least you’re out of the wind. This is as far as the mules can go. Past\nhere, well, it’s a sort of chimney, more like a stone ladder than proper steps, but it’s not\ntoo bad. Another hour and we’ll be there.”\n\nCatelyn looked up. Directly overhead, pale in the dawn light, she could see the\nfoundations of the Eyrie. It could not be more than six hundred feet above them. From\nbelow it looked like a small white honeycomb. She remembered what her uncle had said\nof baskets and winches. “The Lannisters may have their pride,” she told Mya, “but the\nTullys are born with better sense. I have ridden all day and the best part of a night. Tell\nthem to lower a basket. I shall ride with the turnips.”\n\nThe sun was well above the mountains by the time Catelyn Stark finally reached the\nEyrie. A stocky, silver-haired man in a sky-blue cloak and hammered moon-and-falcon\nbreastplate helped her from the basket; Ser Vardis Egen, captain of Jon Arryn’s\nhousehold guard. Beside him stood Maester Colemon, thin and nervous, with too little\nhair and too much neck. “Lady Stark,” Ser Vardis said, “the pleasure is as great as it is\n"
## [345] "unanticipated.” Maester Colemon bobbed his head in agreement. “Indeed it is, my lady,\nindeed it is. I have sent word to your sister. She left orders to be awakened the instant\nyou arrived.”\n\n“I hope she had a good night’s rest,” Catelyn said with a certain bite in her tone that\nseemed to go unnoticed.\n\nThe men escorted her from the winch room up a spiral stair. The Eyrie was a small castle\nby the standards of the great houses; seven slender white towers bunched as tightly as\narrows in a quiver on a shoulder of the great mountain. It had no need of stables nor\nsmithys nor kennels, but Ned said its granary was as large as Winterfell’s, and its towers\ncould house five hundred men. Yet it seemed strangely deserted to Catelyn as she passed\nthrough it, its pale stone halls echoing and empty.\n\nLysa was waiting alone in her solar, still clad in her bed robes. Her long auburn hair\ntumbled unbound across bare white shoulders and down her back. A maid stood behind\nher, brushing out the night’s tangles, but when Catelyn entered, her sister rose to her\nfeet, smiling. “Cat,” she said. “Oh, Cat, how good it is to see you. My sweet sister.” She\nran across the chamber and wrapped her sister in her arms. “How long it has been,” Lysa\nmurmured against her. “Oh, how very very long.”\n\nIt had been five years, in truth; five cruel years, for Lysa. They had taken their toll. Her\nsister was two years the younger, yet she looked older now. Shorter than Catelyn, Lysa\nhad grown thick of body, pale and puffy of face. She had the blue eyes of the Tullys, but\nhers were pale and watery, never still. Her small mouth had turned petulant. As Catelyn\nheld her, she remembered the slender, high-breasted girl who’d waited beside her that\nday in the sept at Riverrun. How lovely and full of hope she had been. All that remained\nof her sister’s beauty was the great fall of thick auburn hair that cascaded to her waist.\n\n“You look well,” Catelyn lied, “but . . . tired.”\n\nHer sister broke the embrace. “Tired. Yes. Oh, yes.” She seemed to notice the others\nthen; her maid, Maester Colemon, Ser Vardis. “Leave us,” she told them. “I wish to speak\nto my sister alone.” She held Catelyn’s hand as they withdrew . . .\n\n . . . and dropped it the instant the door closed. Catelyn saw her face change. It was as if\nthe sun had gone behind a cloud. “Have you taken leave of your senses?” Lysa snapped\nat her. “To bring him here, without a word of permission, without so much as a warning,\nto drag us into your quarrels with the Lannisters . . . ”\n\n“My quarrels?” Catelyn could scarce believe what she was hearing. A great fire burned in\nthe hearth, but there was no trace of warmth in Lysa’s voice. “They were your quarrels\n"
## [346] "first, sister. It was you who sent me that cursed letter, you who wrote that the Lannisters\nhad murdered your husband.”\n\n“To warn you, so you could stay away from them! I never meant to fight them! Gods,\nCat, do you know what you’ve done?”\n\n“Mother?” a small voice said. Lysa whirled, her heavy robe swirling around her. Robert\nArryn, Lord of the Eyrie, stood in the doorway, clutching a ragged cloth doll and looking\nat them with large eyes. He was a painfully thin child, small for his age and sickly all his\ndays, and from time to time he trembled. The shaking sickness, the maesters called it. “I\nheard voices.”\n\nSmall wonder, Catelyn thought; Lysa had almost been shouting. Still, her sister looked\ndaggers at her. “This is your aunt Catelyn, baby. My sister, Lady Stark. Do you\nremember?”\n\nThe boy glanced at her blankly. “I think so,” he said, blinking, though he had been less\nthan a year old the last time Catelyn had seen him.\n\nLysa seated herself near the fire and said, “Come to Mother, my sweet one.” She\nstraightened his bedclothes and fussed with his fine brown hair. “Isn’t he beautiful? And\nstrong too, don’t you believe the things you hear. Jon knew. The seed is strong, he told\nme. His last words. He kept saying Robert’s name, and he grabbed my arm so hard he\nleft marks. Tell them, the seed is strong. His seed. He wanted everyone to know what a\ngood strong boy my baby was going to be.”\n\n“Lysa,” Catelyn said, “if you’re right about the Lannisters, all the more reason we must\nact quickly. We—”\n\n“Not in front of the baby,” Lysa said. “He has a delicate temper, don’t you, sweet one?”\n\n“The boy is Lord of the Eyrie and Defender of the Vale,” Catelyn reminded her, “and\nthese are no times for delicacy. Ned thinks it may come to war.”\n\n“Quiet!” Lysa snapped at her. “You’re scaring the boy.” Little Robert took a quick peek\nover his shoulder at Catelyn and began to tremble. His doll fell to the rushes, and he\npressed himself against his mother. “Don’t be afraid, my sweet baby,” Lysa whispered.\n“Mother’s here, nothing will hurt you.” She opened her robe and drew out a pale, heavy\nbreast, tipped with red. The boy grabbed for it eagerly, buried his face against her chest,\nand began to suck. Lysa stroked his hair.\n\nCatelyn was at a loss for words. Jon Arryn’s son, she thought incredulously. She\n"
## [347] "remembered her own baby, three-year-old Rickon, half the age of this boy and five times\nas fierce. Small wonder the lords of the Vale were restive. For the first time she\nunderstood why the king had tried to take the child away from his mother to foster with\nthe Lannisters . . .\n\n“We’re safe here,” Lysa was saying. Whether to her or to the boy, Catelyn was not sure.\n\n“Don’t be a fool,” Catelyn said, the anger rising in her. “No one is safe. If you think\nhiding here will make the Lannisters forget you, you are sadly mistaken.”\n\nLysa covered her boy’s ear with her hand. “Even if they could bring an army through the\nmountains and past the Bloody Gate, the Eyrie is impregnable. You saw for yourself. No\nenemy could ever reach us up here.”\n\nCatelyn wanted to slap her. Uncle Brynden had tried to warn her, she realized. “No castle\nis impregnable.”\n\n“This one is,” Lysa insisted. “Everyone says so. The only thing is, what am I to do with\nthis Imp you have brought me?”\n\n“Is he a bad man?” the Lord of the Eyrie asked, his mother’s breast popping from his\nmouth, the nipple wet and red.\n\n“A very bad man,” Lysa told him as she covered herself, “but Mother won’t let him harm\nmy little baby.”\n\n“Make him fly,” Robert said eagerly.\n\nLysa stroked her son’s hair. “Perhaps we will,” she murmured. “Perhaps that is just what\nwe will do.”\n\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [348] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n EDDARD\nHe found Littlefinger in the brothel’s common room, chatting amiably with a tall,\nelegant woman who wore a feathered gown over skin as black as ink. By the hearth,\nHeward and a buxom wench were playing at forfeits. From the look of it, he’d lost his\nbelt, his cloak, his mail shirt, and his right boot so far, while the girl had been forced to\nunbutton her shift to the waist. Jory Cassel stood beside a rain-streaked window with a\nwry smile on his face, watching Heward turn over tiles and enjoying the view.\n\nNed paused at the foot of the stair and pulled on his gloves. “It’s time we took our leave.\nMy business here is done.”\n\nHeward lurched to his feet, hurriedly gathering up his things. “As you will, my lord,”\nJory said. “I’ll help Wyl bring round the horses.” He strode to the door.\n\nLittlefinger took his time saying his farewells. He kissed the black woman’s hand,\nwhispered some joke that made her laugh aloud, and sauntered over to Ned. “Your\nbusiness,” he said lightly, “or Robert’s? They say the Hand dreams the king’s dreams,\nspeaks with the king’s voice, and rules with the king’s sword. Does that also mean you\nfuck with the king’s—”\n\n“Lord Baelish,” Ned interrupted, “you presume too much. I am not ungrateful for your\nhelp. It might have taken us years to find this brothel without you. That does not mean I\nintend to endure your mockery. And I am no longer the King’s Hand.”\n\n“The direwolf must be a prickly beast,” said Littlefinger with a sharp twist of his mouth.\n\nA warm rain was pelting down from a starless black sky as they walked to the stables.\nNed drew up the hood of his cloak. Jory brought out his horse. Young Wyl came right\nbehind him, leading Littlefinger’s mare with one hand while the other fumbled with his\nbelt and the lacings of his trousers. A barefoot whore leaned out of the stable door,\ngiggling at him.\n\n“Will we be going back to the castle now, my lord?” Jory asked. Ned nodded and swung\ninto the saddle. Littlefinger mounted up beside him. Jory and the others followed.\n\n“Chataya runs a choice establishment,” Littlefinger said as they rode. “I’ve half a mind to\n"
## [349] "buy it. Brothels are a much sounder investment than ships, I’ve found. Whores seldom\nsink, and when they are boarded by pirates, why, the pirates pay good coin like everyone\nelse.” Lord Petyr chuckled at his own wit.\n\nNed let him prattle on. After a time, he quieted and they rode in silence. The streets of\nKing’s Landing were dark and deserted. The rain had driven everyone under their roofs.\nIt beat down on Ned’s head, warm as blood and relentless as old guilts. Fat drops of\nwater ran down his face.\n\n“Robert will never keep to one bed,” Lyanna had told him at Winterfell, on the night long\nago when their father had promised her hand to the young Lord of Storm’s End. “I hear\nhe has gotten a child on some girl in the Vale.” Ned had held the babe in his arms; he\ncould scarcely deny her, nor would he lie to his sister, but he had assured her that what\nRobert did before their betrothal was of no matter, that he was a good man and true who\nwould love her with all his heart. Lyanna had only smiled. “Love is sweet, dearest Ned,\nbut it cannot change a man’s nature.”\n\nThe girl had been so young Ned had not dared to ask her age. No doubt she’d been a\nvirgin; the better brothels could always find a virgin, if the purse was fat enough. She\nhad light red hair and a powdering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and when\nshe slipped free a breast to give her nipple to the babe, he saw that her bosom was\nfreckled as well. “I named her Barra,” she said as the child nursed. “She looks so like\nhim, does she not, milord? She has his nose, and his hair . . . ”\n\n“She does.” Eddard Stark had touched the baby’s fine, dark hair. It flowed through his\nfingers like black silk. Robert’s firstborn had had the same fine hair, he seemed to recall.\n\n“Tell him that when you see him, milord, as it . . . as it please you. Tell him how beautiful\nshe is.”\n\n“I will,” Ned had promised her. That was his curse. Robert would swear undying love\nand forget them before evenfall, but Ned Stark kept his vows. He thought of the\npromises he’d made Lyanna as she lay dying, and the price he’d paid to keep them.\n\n“And tell him I’ve not been with no one else. I swear it, milord, by the old gods and new.\nChataya said I could have half a year, for the baby, and for hoping he’d come back. So\nyou’ll tell him I’m waiting, won’t you? I don’t want no jewels or nothing, just him. He\nwas always good to me, truly.”\n\nGood to you, Ned thought hollowly. “I will tell him, child, and I promise you, Barra shall\nnot go wanting.”\n"
## [350] "She had smiled then, a smile so tremulous and sweet that it cut the heart out of him.\nRiding through the rainy night, Ned saw Jon Snow’s face in front of him, so like a\nyounger version of his own. If the gods frowned so on bastards, he thought dully, why\ndid they fill men with such lusts? “Lord Baelish, what do you know of Robert’s bastards?”\n\n“Well, he has more than you, for a start.”\n\n“How many?”\n\nLittlefinger shrugged. Rivulets of moisture twisted down the back of his cloak. “Does it\nmatter? If you bed enough women, some will give you presents, and His Grace has never\nbeen shy on that count. I know he’s acknowledged that boy at Storm’s End, the one he\nfathered the night Lord Stannis wed. He could hardly do otherwise. The mother was a\nFlorent, niece to the Lady Selyse, one of her bedmaids. Renly says that Robert carried\nthe girl upstairs during the feast, and broke in the wedding bed while Stannis and his\nbride were still dancing. Lord Stannis seemed to think that was a blot on the honor of his\nwife’s House, so when the boy was born, he shipped him off to Renly.” He gave Ned a\nsideways glance. “I’ve also heard whispers that Robert got a pair of twins on a serving\nwench at Casterly Rock, three years ago when he went west for Lord Tywin’s tourney.\nCersei had the babes killed, and sold the mother to a passing slaver. Too much an affront\nto Lannister pride, that close to home.”\n\nNed Stark grimaced. Ugly tales like that were told of every great lord in the realm. He\ncould believe it of Cersei Lannister readily enough . . . but would the king stand by and\nlet it happen? The Robert he had known would not have, but the Robert he had known\nhad never been so practiced at shutting his eyes to things he did not wish to see. “Why\nwould Jon Arryn take a sudden interest in the king’s baseborn children?”\n\nThe short man gave a sodden shrug. “He was the King’s Hand. Doubtless Robert asked\nhim to see that they were provided for.”\n\nNed was soaked through to the bone, and his soul had grown cold. “It had to be more\nthan that, or why kill him?”\n\nLittlefinger shook the rain from his hair and laughed. “Now I see. Lord Arryn learned\nthat His Grace had filled the bellies of some whores and fishwives, and for that he had to\nbe silenced. Small wonder. Allow a man like that to live, and next he’s like to blurt out\nthat the sun rises in the east.”\n\nThere was no answer Ned Stark could give to that but a frown. For the first time in years,\nhe found himself remembering Rhaegar Targaryen. He wondered if Rhaegar had\nfrequented brothels; somehow he thought not.\n"
## [351] "The rain was falling harder now, stinging the eyes and drumming against the ground.\nRivers of black water were running down the hill when Jory called out, “My lord,” his\nvoice hoarse with alarm. And in an instant, the street was full of soldiers.\n\nNed glimpsed ringmail over leather, gauntlets and greaves, steel helms with golden lions\non the crests. Their cloaks clung to their backs, sodden with rain. He had no time to\ncount, but there were ten at least, a line of them, on foot, blocking the street, with\nlongswords and iron-tipped spears. “Behind!” he heard Wyl cry, and when he turned his\nhorse, there were more in back of them, cutting off their retreat. Jory’s sword came\nsinging from its scabbard. “Make way or die!”\n\n“The wolves are howling,” their leader said. Ned could see rain running down his face.\n“Such a small pack, though.”\n\nLittlefinger walked his horse forward, step by careful step. “What is the meaning of this?\nThis is the Hand of the King.”\n\n“He was the Hand of the King.” The mud muffled the hooves of the blood bay stallion.\nThe line parted before him. On a golden breastplate, the lion of Lannister roared its\ndefiance. “Now, if truth be told, I’m not sure what he is.”\n\n“Lannister, this is madness,” Littlefinger said. “Let us pass. We are expected back at the\ncastle. What do you think you’re doing?”\n\n“He knows what he’s doing,” Ned said calmly.\n\nJaime Lannister smiled. “Quite true. I’m looking for my brother. You remember my\nbrother, don’t you, Lord Stark? He was with us at Winterfell. Fair-haired, mismatched\neyes, sharp of tongue. A short man.”\n\n“I remember him well,” Ned replied.\n\n“It would seem he has met some trouble on the road. My lord father is quite vexed. You\nwould not perchance have any notion of who might have wished my brother ill, would\nyou?”\n\n“Your brother has been taken at my command, to answer for his crimes,” Ned Stark said.\n\nLittlefinger groaned in dismay. “My lords—”\n\nSer Jaime ripped his longsword from its sheath and urged his stallion forward. “Show\n"
## [352] "me your steel, Lord Eddard. I’ll butcher you like Aerys if I must, but I’d sooner you died\nwith a blade in your hand.” He gave Littlefinger a cool, contemptuous glance. “Lord\nBaelish, I’d leave here in some haste if I did not care to get bloodstains on my costly\nclothing.”\n\nLittlefinger did not need to be urged. “I will bring the City Watch,” he promised Ned.\nThe Lannister line parted to let him through, and closed behind him. Littlefinger put his\nheels to his mare and vanished around a corner.\n\nNed’s men had drawn their swords, but they were three against twenty. Eyes watched\nfrom nearby windows and doors, but no one was about to intervene. His party was\nmounted, the Lannisters on foot save for Jaime himself. A charge might win them free,\nbut it seemed to Eddard Stark that they had a surer, safer tactic. “Kill me,” he warned\nthe Kingslayer, “and Catelyn will most certainly slay Tyrion.”\n\nJaime Lannister poked at Ned’s chest with the gilded sword that had sipped the blood of\nthe last of the Dragonkings. “Would she? The noble Catelyn Tully of Riverrun murder a\nhostage? I think . . . not.” He sighed. “But I am not willing to chance my brother’s life on\na woman’s honor.” Jaime slid the golden sword into its sheath. “So I suppose I’ll let you\nrun back to Robert to tell him how I frightened you. I wonder if he’ll care.” Jaime pushed\nhis wet hair back with his fingers and wheeled his horse around. When he was beyond\nthe line of swordsmen, he glanced back at his captain. “Tregar, see that no harm comes\nto Lord Stark.”\n\n“As you say, m’lord.”\n\n“Still . . . we wouldn’t want him to leave here entirely unchastened, so”—through the\nnight and the rain, he glimpsed the white of Jaime’s smile—“kill his men.”\n\n“No!” Ned Stark screamed, clawing for his sword. Jaime was already cantering off down\nthe street as he heard Wyl shout. Men closed from both sides. Ned rode one down,\ncutting at phantoms in red cloaks who gave way before him. Jory Cassel put his heels\ninto his mount and charged. A steel-shod hoof caught a Lannister guardsman in the face\nwith a sickening crunch. A second man reeled away and for an instant Jory was free. Wyl\ncursed as they pulled him off his dying horse, swords slashing in the rain. Ned galloped\nto him, bringing his longsword down on Tregar’s helm. The jolt of impact made him grit\nhis teeth. Tregar stumbled to his knees, his lion crest sheared in half, blood running\ndown his face. Heward was hacking at the hands that had seized his bridle when a spear\ncaught him in the belly. Suddenly Jory was back among them, a red rain flying from his\nsword. “No!” Ned shouted. “Jory, away!” Ned’s horse slipped under him and came\ncrashing down in the mud. There was a moment of blinding pain and the taste of blood\nin his mouth.\n"
## [353] "He saw them cut the legs from Jory’s mount and drag him to the earth, swords rising\nand failing as they closed in around him. When Ned’s horse lurched back to its feet, he\ntried to rise, only to fall again, choking on his scream. He could see the splintered bone\npoking through his calf. It was the last thing he saw for a time. The rain came down and\ndown and down.\n\nWhen he opened his eyes again, Lord Eddard Stark was alone with his dead. His horse\nmoved closer, caught the rank scent of blood, and galloped away. Ned began to drag\nhimself through the mud, gritting his teeth at the agony in his leg. It seemed to take\nyears. Faces watched from candlelit windows, and people began to emerge from alleys\nand doors, but no one moved to help.\n\nLittlefinger and the City Watch found him there in the street, cradling Jory Cassel’s body\nin his arms.\n\nSomewhere the gold cloaks found a litter, but the trip back to the castle was a blur of\nagony, and Ned lost consciousness more than once. He remembered seeing the Red\nKeep looming ahead of him in the first grey light of dawn. The rain had darkened the\npale pink stone of the massive walls to the color of blood.\n\nThen Grand Maester Pycelle was looming over him, holding a cup, whispering, “Drink,\nmy lord. Here. The milk of the poppy, for your pain.” He remembered swallowing, and\nPycelle was telling someone to heat the wine to boiling and fetch him clean silk, and that\nwas the last he knew.\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [354] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n DAENERYS\nThe Horse Gate of Vaes Dothrak was made of two gigantic bronze stallions, rearing, their\nhooves meeting a hundred feet above the roadway to form a pointed arch.\n\nDany could not have said why the city needed a gate when it had no walls . . . and no\nbuildings that she could see. Yet there it stood, immense and beautiful, the great horses\nframing the distant purple mountain beyond. The bronze stallions threw long shadows\nacross the waving grasses as Khal Drogo led the khalasar under their hooves and down\nthe godsway, his bloodriders beside him.\n\nDany followed on her silver, escorted by Ser Jorah Mormont and her brother Viserys,\nmounted once more. After the day in the grass when she had left him to walk back to the\nkhalasar, the Dothraki had laughingly called him Khal Rhae Mhar, the Sorefoot King.\nKhal Drogo had offered him a place in a cart the next day, and Viserys had accepted. In\nhis stubborn ignorance, he had not even known he was being mocked; the carts were for\neunuchs, cripples, women giving birth, the very young and the very old. That won him\nyet another name: Khal Rhaggat, the Cart King. Her brother had thought it was the\nkhal’s way of apologizing for the wrong Dany had done him. She had begged Ser Jorah\nnot to tell him the truth, lest he be shamed. The knight had replied that the king could\nwell do with a bit of shame . . . yet he had done as she bid. It had taken much pleading,\nand all the pillow tricks Doreah had taught her, before Dany had been able to make\nDrogo relent and allow Viserys to rejoin them at the head of the column.\n\n“Where is the city?” she asked as they passed beneath the bronze arch. There were no\nbuildings to be seen, no people, only the grass and the road, lined with ancient\nmonuments from all the lands the Dothraki had sacked over the centuries.\n\n“Ahead,” Ser Jorah answered. “Under the mountain.”\n\nBeyond the horse gate, plundered gods and stolen heroes loomed to either side of them.\nThe forgotten deities of dead cities brandished their broken thunderbolts at the sky as\nDany rode her silver past their feet. Stone kings looked down on her from their thrones,\ntheir faces chipped and stained, even their names lost in the mists of time. Lithe young\nmaidens danced on marble plinths, draped only in flowers, or poured air from shattered\njars. Monsters stood in the grass beside the road; black iron dragons with jewels for\neyes, roaring griffins, manticores with their barbed tails poised to strike, and other\n"
## [355] "beasts she could not name. Some of the statues were so lovely they took her breath away,\nothers so misshapen and terrible that Dany could scarcely bear to look at them. Those,\nSer Jorah said, had likely come from the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai.\n\n“So many,” she said as her silver stepped slowly onward, “and from so many lands.”\n\nViserys was less impressed. “The trash of dead cities,” he sneered. He was careful to\nspeak in the Common Tongue, which few Dothraki could understand, yet even so Dany\nfound herself glancing back at the men of her khas, to make certain he had not been\noverheard. He went on blithely. “All these savages know how to do is steal the things\nbetter men have built . . . and kill.” He laughed. “They do know how to kill. Otherwise I’d\nhave no use for them at all.”\n\n“They are my people now,” Dany said. “You should not call them savages, brother.”\n\n“The dragon speaks as he likes,” Viserys said . . . in the Common Tongue. He glanced\nover his shoulder at Aggo and Rakharo, riding behind them, and favored them with a\nmocking smile. “See, the savages lack the wit to understand the speech of civilized men.”\nA moss-eaten stone monolith loomed over the road, fifty feet tall. Viserys gazed at it with\nboredom in his eyes. “How long must we linger amidst these ruins before Drogo gives\nme my army? I grow tired of waiting.”\n\n“The princess must be presented to the dosh khaleen . . . ”\n\n“The crones, yes,” her brother interrupted, “and there’s to be some mummer’s show of a\nprophecy for the whelp in her belly, you told me. What is that to me? I’m tired of eating\nhorsemeat and I’m sick of the stink of these savages.” He sniffed at the wide, floppy\nsleeve of his tunic, where it was his custom to keep a sachet. It could not have helped\nmuch. The tunic was filthy. All the silk and heavy wools that Viserys had worn out of\nPentos were stained by hard travel and rotted from sweat.\n\nSer Jorah Mormont said, “The Western Market will have food more to your taste, Your\nGrace. The traders from the Free Cities come there to sell their wares. The khal will\nhonor his promise in his own time.”\n\n“He had better,” Viserys said grimly. “I was promised a crown, and I mean to have it.\nThe dragon is not mocked.” Spying an obscene likeness of a woman with six breasts and\na ferret’s head, he rode off to inspect it more closely.\n\nDany was relieved, yet no less anxious. “I pray that my sun-and-stars will not keep him\nwaiting too long,” she told Ser Jorah when her brother was out of earshot.\n"
## [356] "The knight looked after Viserys doubtfully. “Your brother should have bided his time in\nPentos. There is no place for him in a khalasar. Illyrio tried to warn him.”\n\n“He will go as soon as he has his ten thousand. My lord husband promised a golden\ncrown.”\n\nSer Jorah grunted. “Yes, Khaleesi, but . . . the Dothraki look on these things differently\nthan we do in the west. I have told him as much, as Illyrio told him, but your brother\ndoes not listen. The horselords are no traders. Viserys thinks he sold you, and now he\nwants his price. Yet Khal Drogo would say he had you as a gift. He will give Viserys a gift\nin return, yes . . . in his own time. You do not demand a gift, not of a khal. You do not\ndemand anything of a khal.”\n\n“It is not right to make him wait.” Dany did not know why she was defending her\nbrother, yet she was. “Viserys says he could sweep the Seven Kingdoms with ten\nthousand Dothraki screamers.”\n\nSer Jorah snorted. “Viserys could not sweep a stable with ten thousand brooms.”\n\nDany could not pretend to surprise at the disdain in his tone. “What . . . what if it were\nnot Viserys?” she asked. “If it were someone else who led them? Someone stronger?\nCould the Dothraki truly conquer the Seven Kingdoms?”\n\nSer Jorah’s face grew thoughtful as their horses trod together down the godsway. “When\nI first went into exile, I looked at the Dothraki and saw half-naked barbarians, as wild as\ntheir horses. If you had asked me then, Princess, I should have told you that a thousand\ngood knights would have no trouble putting to flight a hundred times as many Dothraki.”\n\n“But if I asked you now?”\n\n“Now,” the knight said, “I am less certain. They are better riders than any knight, utterly\nfearless, and their bows outrange ours. In the Seven Kingdoms, most archers fight on\nfoot, from behind a shieldwall or a barricade of sharpened stakes. The Dothraki fire from\nhorseback, charging or retreating, it makes no matter, they are full as deadly . . . and\nthere are so many of them, my lady. Your lord husband alone counts forty thousand\nmounted warriors in his khalasar.”\n\n“Is that truly so many?”\n\n“Your brother Rhaegar brought as many men to the Trident,” Ser Jorah admitted, “but\nof that number, no more than a tenth were knights. The rest were archers, freeriders,\nand foot soldiers armed with spears and pikes. When Rhaegar fell, many threw down\n"
## [357] "their weapons and fled the field. How long do you imagine such a rabble would stand\nagainst the charge of forty thousand screamers howling for blood? How well would\nboiled leather jerkins and mailed shirts protect them when the arrows fall like rain?”\n\n“Not long,” she said, “not well.”\n\nHe nodded. “Mind you, Princess, if the lords of the Seven Kingdoms have the wit the\ngods gave a goose, it will never come to that. The riders have no taste for siegecraft. I\ndoubt they could take even the weakest castle in the Seven Kingdoms, but if Robert\nBaratheon were fool enough to give them battle . . . ”\n\n“Is he?” Dany asked. “A fool, I mean?”\n\nSer Jorah considered that for a moment. “Robert should have been born Dothraki,” he\nsaid at last. “Your khal would tell you that only a coward hides behind stone walls\ninstead of facing his enemy with a blade in hand. The Usurper would agree. He is a\nstrong man, brave . . . and rash enough to meet a Dothraki horde in the open field. But\nthe men around him, well, their pipers play a different tune. His brother Stannis, Lord\nTywin Lannister, Eddard Stark . . . ” He spat.\n\n“You hate this Lord Stark,” Dany said.\n\n“He took from me all I loved, for the sake of a few lice-ridden poachers and his precious\nhonor,” Ser Jorah said bitterly. From his tone, she could tell the loss still pained him. He\nchanged the subject quickly. “There,” he announced, pointing. “Vaes Dothrak. The city of\nthe horselords.”\n\nKhal Drogo and his bloodriders led them through the great bazaar of the Western\nMarket, down the broad ways beyond. Dany followed close on her silver, staring at the\nstrangeness about her. Vaes Dothrak was at once the largest city and the smallest that\nshe had ever known. She thought it must be ten times as large as Pentos, a vastness\nwithout walls or limits, its broad windswept streets paved in grass and mud and\ncarpeted with wildflowers. In the Free Cities of the west, towers and manses and hovels\nand bridges and shops and halls all crowded in on one another, but Vaes Dothrak\nsprawled languorously, baking in the warm sun, ancient, arrogant, and empty.\n\nEven the buildings were so queer to her eyes. She saw carved stone pavilions, manses of\nwoven grass as large as castles, rickety wooden towers, stepped pyramids faced with\nmarble, log halls open to the sky. In place of walls, some palaces were surrounded by\nthorny hedges. “None of them are alike,” she said.\n\n“Your brother had part of the truth,” Ser Jorah admitted. “The Dothraki do not build. A\n"
## [358] "thousand years ago, to make a house, they would dig a hole in the earth and cover it with\na woven grass roof. The buildings you see were made by slaves brought here from lands\nthey’ve plundered, and they built each after the fashion of their own peoples.”\n\nMost of the halls, even the largest, seemed deserted. “Where are the people who live\nhere?” Dany asked. The bazaar had been full of running children and men shouting, but\nelsewhere she had seen only a few eunuchs going about their business.\n\n“Only the crones of the dosh khaleen dwell permanently in the sacred city, them and\ntheir slaves and servants,” Ser Jorah replied, “yet Vaes Dothrak is large enough to house\nevery man of every khalasar, should all the khals return to the Mother at once. The\ncrones have prophesied that one day that will come to pass, and so Vaes Dothrak must\nbe ready to embrace all its children.”\n\nKhal Drogo finally called a halt near the Eastern Market where the caravans from Yi Ti\nand Asshai and the Shadow Lands came to trade, with the Mother of Mountains looming\noverhead. Dany smiled as she recalled Magister Illyrio’s slave girl and her talk of a palace\nwith two hundred rooms and doors of solid silver. The “palace” was a cavernous wooden\nfeasting hall, its rough-hewn timbered walls rising forty feet, its roof sewn silk, a vast\nbillowing tent that could be raised to keep out the rare rains, or lowered to admit the\nendless sky. Around the hall were broad grassy horse yards fenced with high hedges,\nfirepits, and hundreds of round earthen houses that bulged from the ground like\nminiature hills, covered with grass.\n\nA small army of slaves had gone ahead to prepare for Khal Drogo’s arrival. As each rider\nswung down from his saddle, he unbelted his arakh and handed it to a waiting slave,\nand any other weapons he carried as well. Even Khal Drogo himself was not exempt. Ser\nJorah had explained that it was forbidden to carry a blade in Vaes Dothrak, or to shed a\nfree man’s blood. Even warring khalasars put aside their feuds and shared meat and\nmead together when they were in sight of the Mother of Mountains. In this place, the\ncrones of the dosh khaleen had decreed, all Dothraki were one blood, one khalasar, one\nherd.\n\nCohollo came to Dany as Irri and Jhiqui were helping her down off her silver. He was the\noldest of Drogo’s three bloodriders, a squat bald man with a crooked nose and a mouth\nfull of broken teeth, shattered by a mace twenty years before when he saved the young\nkhalakka from sellswords who hoped to sell him to his father’s enemies. His life had\nbeen bound to Drogo’s the day her lord husband was born.\n\nEvery khal had his bloodriders. At first Dany had thought of them as a kind of Dothraki\nKingsguard, sworn to protect their lord, but it went further than that. Jhiqui had taught\nher that a bloodrider was more than a guard; they were the khal’s brothers, his shadows,\n"
## [359] "his fiercest friends. “Blood of my blood,” Drogo called them, and so it was; they shared a\nsingle life. The ancient traditions of the horselords demanded that when the khal died,\nhis bloodriders died with him, to ride at his side in the night lands. If the khal died at the\nhands of some enemy, they lived only long enough to avenge him, and then followed him\njoyfully into the grave. In some khalasars, Jhiqui said, the bloodriders shared the khal’s\nwine, his tent, and even his wives, though never his horses. A man’s mount was his own.\n\nDaenerys was glad that Khal Drogo did not hold to those ancient ways. She should not\nhave liked being shared. And while old Cohollo treated her kindly enough, the others\nfrightened her; Haggo, huge and silent, often glowered as if he had forgotten who she\nwas, and Qotho had cruel eyes and quick hands that liked to hurt. He left bruises on\nDoreah’s soft white skin whenever he touched her, and sometimes made Irri sob in the\nnight. Even his horses seemed to fear him.\n\nYet they were bound to Drogo for life and death, so Daenerys had no choice but to accept\nthem. And sometimes she found herself wishing her father had been protected by such\nmen. In the songs, the white knights of the Kingsguard were ever noble, valiant, and\ntrue, and yet King Aerys had been murdered by one of them, the handsome boy they\nnow called the Kingslayer, and a second, Ser Barristan the Bold, had gone over to the\nUsurper. She wondered if all men were as false in the Seven Kingdoms. When her son\nsat the Iron Throne, she would see that he had bloodriders of his own to protect him\nagainst treachery in his Kingsguard.\n\n“Khaleesi,” Cohollo said to her, in Dothraki. “Drogo, who is blood of my blood,\ncommands me to tell you that he must ascend the Mother of Mountains this night, to\nsacrifice to the gods for his safe return.”\n\nOnly men were allowed to set foot on the Mother, Dany knew. The khal’s bloodriders\nwould go with him, and return at dawn. “Tell my sun-and-stars that I dream of him, and\nwait anxious for his return,” she replied, thankful. Dany tired more easily as the child\ngrew within her; in truth, a night of rest would be most welcome. Her pregnancy only\nseemed to have inflamed Drogo’s desire for her, and of late his embraces left her\nexhausted.\n\nDoreah led her to the hollow hill that had been prepared for her and her khal. It was cool\nand dim within, like a tent made of earth. “Jhiqui, a bath, please,” she commanded, to\nwash the dust of travel from her skin and soak her weary bones. It was pleasant to know\nthat they would linger here for a while, that she would not need to climb back on her\nsilver on the morrow.\n\nThe water was scalding hot, as she liked it. “I will give my brother his gifts tonight,” she\ndecided as Jhiqui was washing her hair. “He should look a king in the sacred city.\n"
## [360] "Doreah, run and find him and invite him to sup with me.” Viserys was nicer to the\nLysene girl than to her Dothraki handmaids, perhaps because Magister Illyrio had let\nhim bed her back in Pentos. “Irri, go to the bazaar and buy fruit and meat. Anything but\nhorseflesh.”\n\n“Horse is best,” Irri said. “Horse makes a man strong.”\n\n“Viserys hates horsemeat.”\n\n“As you say, Khaleesi.”\n\nShe brought back a haunch of goat and a basket of fruits and vegetables. Jhiqui roasted\nthe meat with sweetgrass and firepods, basting it with honey as it cooked, and there were\nmelons and pomegranates and plums and some queer eastern fruit Dany did not know.\nWhile her handmaids prepared the meal, Dany laid out the clothing she’d had made to\nher brother’s measure: a tunic and leggings of crisp white linen, leather sandals that\nlaced up to the knee, a bronze medallion belt, a leather vest painted with fire-breathing\ndragons. The Dothraki would respect him more if he looked less a beggar, she hoped,\nand perhaps he would forgive her for shaming him that day in the grass. He was still her\nking, after all, and her brother. They were both blood of the dragon.\n\nShe was arranging the last of his gifts—a sandsilk cloak, green as grass, with a pale grey\nborder that would bring out the silver in his hair—when Viserys arrived, dragging\nDoreah by the arm. Her eye was red where he’d hit her. “How dare you send this whore\nto give me commands,” he said. He shoved the handmaid roughly to the carpet.\n\nThe anger took Dany utterly by surprise. “I only wanted . . . Doreah, what did you say?”\n\n“Khaleesi, pardons, forgive me. I went to him, as you bid, and told him you commanded\nhim to join you for supper.”\n\n“No one commands the dragon,” Viserys snarled. “I am your king! I should have sent\nyou back her head!”\n\nThe Lysene girl quailed, but Dany calmed her with a touch. “Don’t be afraid, he won’t\nhurt you. Sweet brother, please, forgive her, the girl misspoke herself, I told her to ask\nyou to sup with me, if it pleases Your Grace.” She took him by the hand and drew him\nacross the room. “Look. These are for you.”\n\nViserys frowned suspiciously. “What is all this?”\n\n“New raiment. I had it made for you.” Dany smiled shyly.\n"
## [361] "He looked at her and sneered. “Dothraki rags. Do you presume to dress me now?”\n\n“Please . . . you’ll be cooler and more comfortable, and I thought . . . maybe if you\ndressed like them, the Dothraki . . . ” Dany did not know how to say it without waking his\ndragon.\n\n“Next you’ll want to braid my hair.”\n\n“I’d never . . . ” Why was he always so cruel? She had only wanted to help. “You have no\nright to a braid, you have won no victories yet.”\n\nIt was the wrong thing to say. Fury shone from his lilac eyes, yet he dared not strike her,\nnot with her handmaids watching and the warriors of her khas outside. Viserys picked\nup the cloak and sniffed at it. “This stinks of manure. Perhaps I shall use it as a horse\nblanket.”\n\n“I had Doreah sew it specially for you,” she told him, wounded. “These are garments fit\nfor a khal.”\n\n“I am the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, not some grass-stained savage with bells in his\nhair,” Viserys spat back at her. He grabbed her arm. “You forget yourself, slut. Do you\nthink that big belly will protect you if you wake the dragon?”\n\nHis fingers dug into her arm painfully and for an instant Dany felt like a child again,\nquailing in the face of his rage. She reached out with her other hand and grabbed the\nfirst thing she touched, the belt she’d hoped to give him, a heavy chain of ornate bronze\nmedallions. She swung it with all her strength.\n\nIt caught him full in the face. Viserys let go of her. Blood ran down his cheek where the\nedge of one of the medallions had sliced it open. “You are the one who forgets himself,”\nDany said to him. “Didn’t you learn anything that day in the grass? Leave me now,\nbefore I summon my khas to drag you out. And pray that Khal Drogo does not hear of\nthis, or he will cut open your belly and feed you your own entrails.”\n\nViserys scrambled back to his feet. “When I come into my kingdom, you will rue this day,\nslut.” He walked off, holding his torn face, leaving her gifts behind him.\n\nDrops of his blood had spattered the beautiful sandsilk cloak. Dany clutched the soft\ncloth to her cheek and sat cross-legged on her sleeping mats.\n\n“Your supper is ready, Khaleesi,” Jhiqui announced.\n"
## [362] "“I’m not hungry,” Dany said sadly. She was suddenly very tired. “Share the food among\nyourselves, and send some to Ser Jorah, if you would.” After a moment she added,\n“Please, bring me one of the dragon’s eggs.”\n\nIrri fetched the egg with the deep green shell, bronze flecks shining amid its scales as she\nturned it in her small hands. Dany curled up on her side, pulling the sandsilk cloak\nacross her and cradling the egg in the hollow between her swollen belly and small,\ntender breasts. She liked to hold them. They were so beautiful, and sometimes just being\nclose to them made her feel stronger, braver, as if somehow she were drawing strength\nfrom the stone dragons locked inside.\n\nShe was lying there, holding the egg, when she felt the child move within her . . . as if he\nwere reaching out, brother to brother, blood to blood. “You are the dragon,” Dany\nwhispered to him, “the true dragon. I know it. I know it.” And she smiled, and went to\nsleep dreaming of home.\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [363] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n BRAN\nA light snow was falling. Bran could feel the flakes on his face, melting as they touched\nhis skin like the gentlest of rains. He sat straight atop his horse, watching as the iron\nportcullis was winched upward. Try as he might to keep calm, his heart was fluttering in\nhis chest.\n\n“Are you ready?” Robb asked.\n\nBran nodded, trying not to let his fear show. He had not been outside Winterfell since\nhis fall, but he was determined to ride out as proud as any knight.\n\n“Let’s ride, then.” Robb put his heels into his big grey-and-white gelding, and the horse\nwalked under the portcullis.\n\n“Go,” Bran whispered to his own horse. He touched her neck lightly, and the small\nchestnut filly started forward. Bran had named her Dancer. She was two years old, and\nJoseth said she was smarter than any horse had a right to be. They had trained her\nspecial, to respond to rein and voice and touch. Up to now, Bran had only ridden her\naround the yard. At first Joseth or Hodor would lead her, while Bran sat strapped to her\nback in the oversize saddle the Imp had drawn up for him, but for the past fortnight he\nhad been riding her on his own, trotting her round and round, and growing bolder with\nevery circuit.\n\nThey passed beneath the gatehouse, over the drawbridge, through the outer walls.\nSummer and Grey Wind came loping beside them, sniffing at the wind. Close behind\ncame Theon Greyjoy, with his longbow and a quiver of broadheads; he had a mind to\ntake a deer, he had told them. He was followed by four guardsmen in mailed shirts and\ncoifs, and Joseth, a stick-thin stableman whom Robb had named master of horse while\nHullen was away. Maester Luwin brought up the rear, riding on a donkey. Bran would\nhave liked it better if he and Robb had gone off alone, just the two of them, but Hal\nMollen would not hear of it, and Maester Luwin backed him. If Bran fell off his horse or\ninjured himself, the maester was determined to be with him.\n\nBeyond the castle lay the market square, its wooden stalls deserted now. They rode down\nthe muddy streets of the village, past rows of small neat houses of log and undressed\nstone. Less than one in five were occupied, thin tendrils of woodsmoke curling up from\n"
## [364] "their chimneys. The rest would fill up one by one as it grew colder. When the snow fell\nand the ice winds howled down out of the north, Old Nan said, farmers left their frozen\nfields and distant holdfasts, loaded up their wagons, and then the winter town came\nalive. Bran had never seen it happen, but Maester Luwin said the day was looming\ncloser. The end of the long summer was near at hand. Winter is coming.\n\nA few villagers eyed the direwolves anxiously as the riders went past, and one man\ndropped the wood he was carrying as he shrank away in fear, but most of the townfolk\nhad grown used to the sight. They bent the knee when they saw the boys, and Robb\ngreeted each of them with a lordly nod.\n\nWith his legs unable to grip, the swaying motion of the horse made Bran feel unsteady at\nfirst, but the huge saddle with its thick horn and high back cradled him comfortingly,\nand the straps around his chest and thighs would not allow him to fall. After a time the\nrhythm began to feel almost natural. His anxiety faded, and a tremulous smile crept\nacross his face.\n\nTwo serving wenches stood beneath the sign of the Smoking Log, the local alehouse.\nWhen Theon Greyjoy called out to them, the younger girl turned red and covered her\nface. Theon spurred his mount to move up beside Robb. “Sweet Kyra,” he said with a\nlaugh. “She squirms like a weasel in bed, but say a word to her on the street, and she\nblushes pink as a maid. Did I ever tell you about the night that she and Bessa—”\n\n“Not where my brother can hear, Theon,” Robb warned him with a glance at Bran.\n\nBran looked away and pretended not to have heard, but he could feel Greyjoy’s eyes on\nhim. No doubt he was smiling. He smiled a lot, as if the world were a secret joke that\nonly he was clever enough to understand. Robb seemed to admire Theon and enjoy his\ncompany, but Bran had never warmed to his father’s ward.\n\nRobb rode closer. “You are doing well, Bran.”\n\n“I want to go faster,” Bran replied.\n\nRobb smiled. “As you will.” He sent his gelding into a trot. The wolves raced after him.\nBran snapped the reins sharply, and Dancer picked up her pace. He heard a shout from\nTheon Greyjoy, and the hoofbeats of the other horses behind him.\n\nBran’s cloak billowed out, rippling in the wind, and the snow seemed to rush at his face.\nRobb was well ahead, glancing back over his shoulder from time to time to make sure\nBran and the others were following. He snapped the reins again. Smooth as silk, Dancer\nslid into a gallop. The distance closed. By the time he caught Robb on the edge of the\n"
## [365] "wolfswood, two miles beyond the winter town, they had left the others well behind. “I\ncan ride!” Bran shouted, grinning. It felt almost as good as flying.\n\n“I’d race you, but I fear you’d win.” Robb’s tone was light and joking, yet Bran could tell\nthat something was troubling his brother underneath the smile.\n\n“I don’t want to race.” Bran looked around for the direwolves. Both had vanished into\nthe wood. “Did you hear Summer howling last night?”\n\n“Grey Wind was restless too,” Robb said. His auburn hair had grown shaggy and\nunkempt, and a reddish stubble covered his jaw, making him look older than his fifteen\nyears. “Sometimes I think they know things . . . sense things . . . ” Robb sighed. “I never\nknow how much to tell you, Bran. I wish you were older.”\n\n“I’m eight now!” Bran said. “Eight isn’t so much younger than fifteen, and I’m the heir to\nWinterfell, after you.”\n\n“So you are.” Robb sounded sad, and even a little scared. “Bran, I need to tell you\nsomething. There was a bird last night. From King’s Landing. Maester Luwin woke me.”\n\nBran felt a sudden dread. Dark wings, dark words, Old Nan always said, and of late the\nmessenger ravens had been proving the truth of the proverb. When Robb wrote to the\nLord Commander of the Night’s Watch, the bird that came back brought word that Uncle\nBenjen was still missing. Then a message had arrived from the Eyrie, from Mother, but\nthat had not been good news either. She did not say when she meant to return, only that\nshe had taken the Imp as prisoner. Bran had sort of liked the little man, yet the name\nLannister sent cold fingers creeping up his spine. There was something about the\nLannisters, something he ought to remember, but when he tried to think what, he felt\ndizzy and his stomach clenched hard as a stone. Robb spent most of that day locked\nbehind closed doors with Maester Luwin, Theon Greyjoy, and Hallis Mollen. Afterward,\nriders were sent out on fast horses, carrying Robb’s commands throughout the north.\nBran heard talk of Moat Cailin, the ancient stronghold the First Men had built at the top\nof the Neck. No one ever told him what was happening, yet he knew it was not good.\n\nAnd now another raven, another message. Bran clung to hope. “Was the bird from\nMother? Is she coming home?”\n\n“The message was from Alyn in King’s Landing. Jory Cassel is dead. And Wyl and\nHeward as well. Murdered by the Kingslayer.” Robb lifted his face to the snow, and the\nflakes melted on his cheeks. “May the gods give them rest.”\n\nBran did not know what to say. He felt as if he’d been punched. Jory had been captain of\n"
## [366] "the household guard at Winterfell since before Bran was born. “They killed Jory?” He\nremembered all the times Jory had chased him over the roofs. He could picture him\nstriding across the yard in mail and plate, or sitting at his accustomed place on the\nbench in the Great Hall, joking as he ate. “Why would anyone kill Jory?”\n\nRobb shook his head numbly, the pain plain in his eyes. “I don’t know, and . . . Bran,\nthat’s not the worst of it. Father was caught beneath a falling horse in the fight. Alyn says\nhis leg was shattered, and . . . Maester Pycelle has given him the milk of the poppy, but\nthey aren’t sure when . . . when he . . .” The sound of hoofbeats made him glance down\nthe road, to where Theon and the others were coming up. “When he will wake,” Robb\nfinished. He laid his hand on the pommel of his sword then, and went on in the solemn\nvoice of Robb the Lord. “Bran, I promise you, whatever might happen, I will not let this\nbe forgotten.”\n\nSomething in his tone made Bran even more fearful. “What will you do?” he asked as\nTheon Greyjoy reined in beside them.\n\n“Theon thinks I should call the banners,” Robb said.\n\n“Blood for blood.” For once Greyjoy did not smile. His lean, dark face had a hungry look\nto it, and black hair fell down across his eyes.\n\n“Only the lord can call the banners,” Bran said as the snow drifted down around them.\n\n“If your father dies,” Theon said, “Robb will be Lord of Winterfell.”\n\n“He won’t die!” Bran screamed at him.\n\nRobb took his hand. “He won’t die, not Father,” he said calmly. “Still . . . the honor of the\nnorth is in my hands now. When our lord father took his leave of us, he told me to be\nstrong for you and for Rickon. I’m almost a man grown, Bran.”\n\nBran shivered. “I wish Mother was back,” he said miserably. He looked around for\nMaester Luwin; his donkey was visible in the far distance, trotting over a rise. “Does\nMaester Luwin say to call the banners too?”\n\n“The maester is timid as an old woman,” said Theon.\n\n“Father always listened to his counsel,” Bran reminded his brother. “Mother too.”\n\n“I listen to him,” Robb insisted. “I listen to everyone.”\n"
## [367] "The joy Bran had felt at the ride was gone, melted away like the snowflakes on his face.\nNot so long ago, the thought of Robb calling the banners and riding off to war would\nhave filled him with excitement, but now he felt only dread. “Can we go back now?” he\nasked. “I’m cold.”\n\nRobb glanced around. “We need to find the wolves. Can you stand to go a bit longer?”\n\n“I can go as long as you can.” Maester Luwin had warned him to keep the ride short, for\nfear of saddle sores, but Bran would not admit to weakness in front of his brother. He\nwas sick of the way everyone was always fussing over him and asking how he was.\n\n“Let’s hunt down the hunters, then,” Robb said. Side by side, they urged their mounts off\nthe kingsroad and struck out into the wolfswood. Theon dropped back and followed well\nbehind them, talking and joking with the guardsmen.\n\nIt was nice under the trees. Bran kept Dancer to a walk, holding the reins lightly and\nlooking all around him as they went. He knew this wood, but he had been so long\nconfined to Winterfell that he felt as though he were seeing it for the first time. The\nsmells filled his nostrils; the sharp fresh tang of pine needles, the earthy odor of wet\nrotting leaves, the hints of animal musk and distant cooking fires. He caught a glimpse\nof a black squirrel moving through the snow-covered branches of an oak, and paused to\nstudy the silvery web of an empress spider.\n\nTheon and the others fell farther and farther behind, until Bran could no longer hear\ntheir voices. From ahead came the faint sound of rushing waters. It grew louder until\nthey reached the stream. Tears stung his eyes.\n\n“Bran?” Robb asked. “What’s wrong?”\n\nBran shook his head. “I was just remembering,” he said. “Jory brought us here once, to\nfish for trout. You and me and Jon. Do you remember?”\n\n“I remember,” Robb said, his voice quiet and sad.\n\n“I didn’t catch anything,” Bran said, “but Jon gave me his fish on the way back to\nWinterfell. Will we ever see Jon again?”\n\n“We saw Uncle Benjen when the king came to visit,” Robb pointed out. “Jon will visit\ntoo, you’ll see.”\n\nThe stream was running high and fast. Robb dismounted and led his gelding across the\n"
## [368] "ford. In the deepest part of the crossing, the water came up to midthigh. He tied his\nhorse to a tree on the far side, and waded back across for Bran and Dancer. The current\nfoamed around rock and root, and Bran could feel the spray on his face as Robb led him\nover. It made him smile. For a moment he felt strong again, and whole. He looked up at\nthe trees and dreamed of climbing them, right up to the very top, with the whole forest\nspread out beneath him.\n\nThey were on the far side when they heard the howl, a long rising wail that moved\nthrough the trees like a cold wind. Bran raised his head to listen. “Summer,” he said. No\nsooner had he spoken than a second voice joined the first.\n\n“They’ve made a kill,” Robb said as he remounted. “I’d best go and bring them back.\nWait here, Theon and the others should be along shortly.”\n\n“I want to go with you,” Bran said.\n\n“I’ll find them faster by myself.” Robb spurred his gelding and vanished into the trees.\n\nOnce he was gone, the woods seemed to close in around Bran. The snow was falling\nmore heavily now. Where it touched the ground it melted, but all about him rock and\nroot and branch wore a thin blanket of white. As he waited, he was conscious of how\nuncomfortable he felt. He could not feel his legs, hanging useless in the stirrups, but the\nstrap around his chest was tight and chafing, and the melting snow had soaked through\nhis gloves to chill his hands. He wondered what was keeping Theon and Maester Luwin\nand Joseth and the rest.\n\nWhen he heard the rustle of leaves, Bran used the reins to make Dancer turn, expecting\nto see his friends, but the ragged men who stepped out onto the bank of the stream were\nstrangers.\n\n“Good day to you,” he said nervously. One look, and Bran knew they were neither\nforesters nor farmers. He was suddenly conscious of how richly he was dressed. His\nsurcoat was new, dark grey wool with silver buttons, and a heavy silver pin fastened his\nfur-trimmed cloak at the shoulders. His boots and gloves were lined with fur as well.\n\n“All alone, are you?” said the biggest of them, a bald man with a raw windburnt face.\n“Lost in the wolfswood, poor lad.”\n\n“I’m not lost.” Bran did not like the way the strangers were looking at him. He counted\nfour, but when he turned his head, he saw two others behind him. “My brother rode off\njust a moment ago, and my guard will be here shortly.”\n"
## [369] "“Your guard, is it?” a second man said. Grey stubble covered his gaunt face. “And what\nwould they be guarding, my little lord? Is that a silver pin I see there on your cloak?”\n\n“Pretty,” said a woman’s voice. She scarcely looked like a woman; tall and lean, with the\nsame hard face as the others, her hair hidden beneath a bowl-shaped halfhelm. The\nspear she held was eight feet of black oak, tipped in rusted steel.\n\n“Let’s have a look,” said the big bald man.\n\nBran watched him anxiously. The man’s clothes were filthy, fallen almost to pieces,\npatched here with brown and here with blue and there with a dark green, and faded\neverywhere to grey, but once that cloak might have been black. The grey stubbly man\nwore black rags too, he saw with a sudden start. Suddenly Bran remembered the\noathbreaker his father had beheaded, the day they had found the wolf pups; that man\nhad worn black as well, and Father said he had been a deserter from the Night’s Watch.\nNo man is more dangerous, he remembered Lord Eddard saying. The deserter knows\nhis life is forfeit if he is taken, so he will not flinch from any crime, no matter how vile\nor cruel.\n\n“The pin, lad,” the big man said. He held out his hand.\n\n“We’ll take the horse too,” said another of them, a woman shorter than Robb, with a\nbroad fiat face and lank yellow hair. “Get down, and be quick about it.” A knife slid from\nher sleeve into her hand, its edge jagged as a saw.\n\n“No,” Bran blurted. “I can’t . . . ”\n\nThe big man grabbed his reins before Bran could think to wheel Dancer around and\ngallop off. “You can, lordling . . . and will, if you know what’s good for you.”\n\n“Stiv, look how he’s strapped on.” The tall woman pointed with her spear. “Might be it’s\nthe truth he’s telling.”\n\n“Straps, is it?” Stiv said. He drew a dagger from a sheath at his belt. “There’s ways to deal\nwith straps.”\n\n“You some kind of cripple?” asked the short woman.\n\nBran flared. “I’m Brandon Stark of Winterfell, and you better let go of my horse, or I’ll\nsee you all dead.”\n\nThe gaunt man with the grey stubbled face laughed. “The boy’s a Stark, true enough.\n"
## [370] "Only a Stark would be fool enough to threaten where smarter men would beg.”\n\n“Cut his little cock off and stuff it in his mouth,” suggested the short woman. “That\nshould shut him up.”\n\n“You’re as stupid as you are ugly, Hali,” said the tall woman. “The boy’s worth nothing\ndead, but alive . . . gods be damned, think what Mance would give to have Benjen Stark’s\nown blood to hostage!”\n\n“Mance be damned,” the big man cursed. “You want to go back there, Osha? More fool\nyou. Think the white walkers will care if you have a hostage?” He turned back to Bran\nand slashed at the strap around his thigh. The leather parted with a sigh.\n\nThe stroke had been quick and careless, biting deep. Looking down, Bran glimpsed pale\nflesh where the wool of his leggings had parted. Then the blood began to flow. He\nwatched the red stain spread, feeling light-headed, curiously apart; there had been no\npain, not even a hint of feeling. The big man grunted in surprise.\n\n“Put down your steel now, and I promise you shall have a quick and painless death,”\nRobb called out.\n\nBran looked up in desperate hope, and there he was. The strength of the words were\nundercut by the way his voice cracked with strain. He was mounted, the bloody carcass\nof an elk slung across the back of his horse, his sword in a gloved hand.\n\n“The brother,” said the man with the grey stubbly face.\n\n“He’s a fierce one, he is,” mocked the short woman. Hali, they called her. “You mean to\nfight us, boy?”\n\n“Don’t be a fool, lad. You’re one against six.” The tall woman, Osha, leveled her spear.\n“Off the horse, and throw down the sword. We’ll thank you kindly for the mount and for\nthe venison, and you and your brother can be on your way.”\n\nRobb whistled. They heard the faint sound of soft feet on wet leaves. The undergrowth\nparted, low-hanging branches giving up their accumulation of snow, and Grey Wind and\nSummer emerged from the green. Summer sniffed the air and growled.\n\n“Wolves,” gasped Hali.\n\n“Direwolves,” Bran said. Still half-grown, they were as large as any wolf he had ever\n"
## [371] "seen, but the differences were easy to spot, if you knew what to look for. Maester Luwin\nand Farlen the kennelmaster had taught him. A direwolf had a bigger head and longer\nlegs in proportion to its body, and its snout and jaw were markedly leaner and more\npronounced. There was something gaunt and terrible about them as they stood there\namid the gently falling snow. Fresh blood spotted Grey Wind’s muzzle.\n\n“Dogs,” the big bald man said contemptuously. “Yet I’m told there’s nothing like a\nwolfskin cloak to warm a man by night.” He made a sharp gesture. “Take them.”\n\nRobb shouted, “Winterfell!” and kicked his horse. The gelding plunged down the bank as\nthe ragged men closed. A man with an axe rushed in, shouting and heedless. Robb’s\nsword caught him full in the face with a sickening crunch and a spray of bright blood.\nThe man with the gaunt stubbly face made a grab for the reins, and for half a second he\nhad them . . . and then Grey Wind was on him, bearing him down. He fell back into the\nstream with a splash and a shout, flailing wildly with his knife as his head went under.\nThe direwolf plunged in after him, and the white water turned red where they had\nvanished.\n\nRobb and Osha matched blows in midstream. Her long spear was a steel-headed\nserpent, flashing out at his chest, once, twice, three times, but Robb parried every thrust\nwith his longsword, turning the point aside. On the fourth or fifth thrust, the tall woman\noverextended herself and lost her balance, just for a second. Robb charged, riding her\ndown.\n\nA few feet away, Summer darted in and snapped at Hali. The knife bit at his flank.\nSummer slid away, snarling, and came rushing in again. This time his jaws closed\naround her calf. Holding the knife with both hands, the small woman stabbed down, but\nthe direwolf seemed to sense the blade coming. He pulled free for an instant, his mouth\nfull of leather and cloth and bloody flesh. When Hali stumbled and fell, he came at her\nagain, slamming her backward, teeth tearing at her belly.\n\nThe sixth man ran from the carnage . . . but not far. As he went scrambling up the far\nside of the bank, Grey Wind emerged from the stream, dripping wet. He shook the water\noff and bounded after the running man, hamstringing him with a single snap of his\nteeth, and going for the throat as the screaming man slid back down toward the water.\n\nAnd then there was no one left but the big man, Stiv. He slashed at Bran’s chest strap,\ngrabbed his arm, and yanked. Suddenly Bran was falling. He sprawled on the ground,\nhis legs tangled under him, one foot in the stream. He could not feel the cold of the\nwater, but he felt the steel when Stiv pressed his dagger to his throat. “Back away,” the\nman warned, “or I’ll open the boy’s windpipe, I swear it.”\n"
## [372] "Robb reined his horse in, breathing hard. The fury went out of his eyes, and his sword\narm dropped.\n\nIn that moment Bran saw everything. Summer was savaging Hali, pulling glistening blue\nsnakes from her belly. Her eyes were wide and staring. Bran could not tell whether she\nwas alive or dead. The grey stubbly man and the one with the axe lay unmoving, but\nOsha was on her knees, crawling toward her fallen spear. Grey Wind padded toward her,\ndripping wet. “Call him off!” the big man shouted. “Call them both off, or the cripple boy\ndies now!”\n\n“Grey Wind, Summer, to me,” Robb said.\n\nThe direwolves stopped, turned their heads. Grey Wind loped back to Robb. Summer\nstayed where he was, his eyes on Bran and the man beside him. He growled. His muzzle\nwas wet and red, but his eyes burned.\n\nOsha used the butt end of her spear to lever herself back to her feet. Blood leaked from a\nwound on the upper arm where Robb had cut her. Bran could see sweat trickling down\nthe big man’s face. Stiv was as scared as he was, he realized. “Starks,” the man muttered,\n“bloody Starks.” He raised his voice. “Osha, kill the wolves and get his sword.”\n\n“Kill them yourself,” she replied. “I’ll not be getting near those monsters.”\n\nFor a moment Stiv was at a loss. His hand trembled; Bran felt a trickle of blood where\nthe knife pressed against his neck. The stench of the man filled his nose; he smelled of\nfear. “You,” he called out to Robb. “You have a name?”\n\n“I am Robb Stark, the heir to Winterfell.”\n\n“This is your brother?”\n\n“Yes.”\n\n“You want him alive, you do what I say. Off the horse.”\n\nRobb hesitated a moment. Then, slowly and deliberately, he dismounted and stood with\nhis sword in hand.\n\n“Now kill the wolves.”\n\nRobb did not move.\n"
## [373] "“You do it. The wolves or the boy.”\n\n“No!” Bran screamed. If Robb did as they asked, Stiv would kill them both anyway, once\nthe direwolves were dead.\n\nThe bald man took hold of his hair with his free hand and twisted it cruelly, till Bran\nsobbed in pain. “You shut your mouth, cripple, you hear me?” He twisted harder. “You\nhear me?”\n\nA low thrum came from the woods behind them. Stiv gave a choked gasp as a half foot of\nrazor-tipped broadhead suddenly exploded out of his chest. The arrow was bright red, as\nif it had been painted in blood.\n\nThe dagger fell away from Bran’s throat. The big man swayed and collapsed, facedown in\nthe stream. The arrow broke beneath him. Bran watched his life go swirling off in the\nwater.\n\nOsha glanced around as Father’s guardsmen appeared from beneath the trees, steel in\nhand. She threw down her spear. “Mercy, m’lord,” she called to Robb.\n\nThe guardsmen had a strange, pale look to their faces as they took in the scene of\nslaughter. They eyed the wolves uncertainly, and when Summer returned to Hali’s\ncorpse to feed, Joseth dropped his knife and scrambled for the bush, heaving. Even\nMaester Luwin seemed shocked as he stepped from behind a tree, but only for an\ninstant. Then he shook his head and waded across the stream to Bran’s side. “Are you\nhurt?”\n\n“He cut my leg,” Bran said, “but I couldn’t feel it.”\n\nAs the maester knelt to examine the wound, Bran turned his head. Theon Greyjoy stood\nbeside a sentinel tree, his bow in hand. He was smiling. Ever smiling. A half-dozen\narrows were thrust into the soft ground at his feet, but it had taken only one. “A dead\nenemy is a thing of beauty,” he announced.\n\n“Jon always said you were an ass, Greyjoy,” Robb said loudly. “I ought to chain you up in\nthe yard and let Bran take a few practice shots at you.”\n\n“You should be thanking me for saving your brother’s life.”\n\n“What if you had missed the shot?” Robb said. “What if you’d only wounded him? What\nif you had made his hand jump, or hit Bran instead? For all you knew, the man might\n"
## [374] "have been wearing a breastplate, all you could see was the back of his cloak. What would\nhave happened to my brother then? Did you ever think of that, Greyjoy?”\n\nTheon’s smile was gone. He gave a sullen shrug and began to pull his arrows from the\nground, one by one.\n\nRobb glared at his guardsmen. “Where were you?” he demanded of them. “I was sure\nyou were close behind us.”\n\nThe men traded unhappy glances. “We were following, m’lord,” said Quent, the youngest\nof them, his beard a soft brown fuzz. “Only first we waited for Maester Luwin and his\nass, begging your pardons, and then, well, as it were . . . ” He glanced over at Theon and\nquickly looked away, abashed.\n\n“I spied a turkey,” Theon said, annoyed by the question. “How was I to know that you’d\nleave the boy alone?”\n\nRobb turned his head to look at Theon once more. Bran had never seen him so angry, yet\nhe said nothing. Finally he knelt beside Maester Luwin. “How badly is my brother\nwounded?”\n\n“No more than a scratch,” the maester said. He wet a cloth in the stream to clean the cut.\n“Two of them wear the black,” he told Robb as he worked.\n\nRobb glanced over at where Stiv lay sprawled in the stream, his ragged black cloak\nmoving fitfully as the rushing waters tugged at it. “Deserters from the Night’s Watch,” he\nsaid grimly. “They must have been fools, to come so close to Winterfell.”\n\n“Folly and desperation are ofttimes hard to tell apart,” said Maester Luwin.\n\n“Shall we bury them, m’lord?” asked Quent.\n\n“They would not have buried us,” Robb said. “Hack off their heads, we’ll send them back\nto the Wall. Leave the rest for the carrion crows.”\n\n“And this one?” Quent jerked a thumb toward Osha.\n\nRobb walked over to her. She was a head taller than he was, but she dropped to her\nknees at his approach. “Give me my life, m’lord of Stark, and I am yours.”\n\n“Mine? What would I do with an oathbreaker?”\n"
## [375] "“I broke no oaths. Stiv and Wallen flew down off the Wall, not me. The black crows got\nno place for women.”\n\nTheon Greyjoy sauntered closer. “Give her to the wolves,” he urged Robb. The woman’s\neyes went to what was left of Hali, and just as quickly away. She shuddered. Even the\nguardsmen looked queasy.\n\n“She’s a woman,” Robb said.\n\n“A wildling,” Bran told him. “She said they should keep me alive so they could take me to\nMance Rayder.”\n\n“Do you have a name?” Robb asked her.\n\n“Osha, as it please the lord,” she muttered sourly.\n\nMaester Luwin stood. “We might do well to question her.”\n\nBran could see the relief on his brother’s face. “As you say, Maester. Wayn, bind her\nhands. She’ll come back to Winterfell with us . . . and live or die by the truths she gives\nus.”\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [376] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n TYRION\nYou want eat?” Mord asked, glowering. He had a plate of oiled beans in one thick, stub-\nfingered hand.\n\nTyrion Lannister was starved, but he refused to let this brute see him cringe. “A leg of\nlamb would be pleasant,” he said, from the heap of soiled straw in the corner of his cell.\n“Perhaps a dish of peas and onions, some fresh baked bread with butter, and a flagon of\nmulled wine to wash it down. Or beer, if that’s easier. I try not to be overly particular.”\n\n“Is beans,” Mord said. “Here.” He held out the plate.\n\nTyrion sighed. The turnkey was twenty stone of gross stupidity, with brown rotting teeth\nand small dark eyes. The left side of his face was slick with scar where an axe had cut off\nhis ear and part of his cheek. He was as predictable as he was ugly, but Tyrion was\nhungry. He reached up for the plate.\n\nMord jerked it away, grinning. “Is here,” he said, holding it out beyond Tyrion’s reach.\n\nThe dwarf climbed stiffly to his feet, every joint aching. “Must we play the same fool’s\ngame with every meal?” He made another grab for the beans.\n\nMord shambled backward, grinning through his rotten teeth. “Is here, dwarf man.” He\nheld the plate out at arm’s length, over the edge where the cell ended and the sky began.\n“You not want eat? Here. Come take.”\n\nTyrion’s arms were too short to reach the plate, and he was not about to step that close\nto the edge. All it would take would be a quick shove of Mord’s heavy white belly, and he\nwould end up a sickening red splotch on the stones of Sky, like so many other prisoners\nof the Eyrie over the centuries. “Come to think on it, I’m not hungry after all,” he\ndeclared, retreating to the corner of his cell.\n\nMord grunted and opened his thick fingers. The wind took the plate, flipping it over as it\nfell. A handful of beans sprayed back at them as the food tumbled out of sight. The\nturnkey laughed, his gut shaking like a bowl of pudding.\n\nTyrion felt a pang of rage. “You fucking son of a pox-ridden ass,” he spat. “I hope you die\n"
## [377] "of a bloody flux.”\n\nFor that, Mord gave him a kick, driving a steel-toed boot hard into Tyrion’s ribs on the\nway out. “I take it back!” he gasped as he doubled over on the straw. “I’ll kill you myself,\nI swear it!” The heavy iron-bound door slammed shut. Tyrion heard the rattle of keys.\n\nFor a small man, he had been cursed with a dangerously big mouth, he reflected as he\ncrawled back to his corner of what the Arryns laughably called their dungeon. He\nhuddled beneath the thin blanket that was his only bedding, staring out at a blaze of\nempty blue sky and distant mountains that seemed to go on forever, wishing he still had\nthe shadowskin cloak he’d won from Marillion at dice, after the singer had stolen it off\nthe body of that brigand chief. The skin had smelled of blood and mold, but it was warm\nand thick. Mord had taken it the moment he laid eyes on it.\n\nThe wind tugged at his blanket with gusts sharp as talons. His cell was miserably small,\neven for a dwarf. Not five feet away, where a wall ought to have been, where a wall would\nbe in a proper dungeon, the floor ended and the sky began. He had plenty of fresh air\nand sunshine, and the moon and stars by night, but Tyrion would have traded it all in an\ninstant for the dankest, gloomiest pit in the bowels of the Casterly Rock.\n\n“You fly,” Mord had promised him, when he’d shoved him into the cell. “Twenty day,\nthirty, fifty maybe. Then you fly.”\n\nThe Arryns kept the only dungeon in the realm where the prisoners were welcome to\nescape at will. That first day, after girding up his courage for hours, Tyrion had lain flat\non his stomach and squirmed to the edge, to poke out his head and look down. Sky was\nsix hundred feet below, with nothing between but empty air. If he craned his neck out as\nfar as it could go, he could see other cells to his right and left and above him. He was a\nbee in a stone honeycomb, and someone had torn off his wings.\n\nIt was cold in the cell, the wind screamed night and day, and worst of all, the floor\nsloped. Ever so slightly, yet it was enough. He was afraid to close his eyes, afraid that he\nmight roll over in his steep and wake in sudden terror as he went sliding off the edge.\nSmall wonder the sky cells drove men mad.\n\nGods save me, some previous tenant had written on the wall in something that looked\nsuspiciously like blood, the blue is calling. At first Tyrion wondered who he’d been, and\nwhat had become of him; later, he decided that he would rather not know.\n\nIf only he had shut his mouth . . .\n\nThe wretched boy had started it, looking down on him from a throne of carved weirwood\n"
## [378] "beneath the moon-and-falcon banners of House Arryn. Tyrion Lannister had been\nlooked down on all his life, but seldom by rheumy-eyed six-year-olds who needed to\nstuff fat cushions under their cheeks to lift them to the height of a man. “Is he the bad\nman?” the boy had asked, clutching his doll.\n\n“He is,” the Lady Lysa had said from the lesser throne beside him. She was all in blue,\npowdered and perfumed for the suitors who filled her court.\n\n“He’s so small,” the Lord of the Eyrie said, giggling.\n\n“This is Tyrion the Imp, of House Lannister, who murdered your father.” She raised her\nvoice so it carried down the length of High Hall of the Eyrie, ringing off the milk-white\nwalls and the slender pillars, so every man could hear it. “He slew the Hand of the King!”\n\n“Oh, did I kill him too?” Tyrion had said, like a fool.\n\nThat would have been a very good time to have kept his mouth closed and his head\nbowed. He could see that now; seven hells, he had seen it then. The High Hall of the\nArryns was long and austere, with a forbidding coldness to its walls of blue-veined white\nmarble, but the faces around him had been colder by far. The power of Casterly Rock\nwas far away, and there were no friends of the Lannisters in the Vale of Arryn.\nSubmission and silence would have been his best defenses.\n\nBut Tyrion’s mood had been too foul for sense. To his shame, he had faltered during the\nlast leg of their day-long climb up to the Eyrie, his stunted legs unable to take him any\nhigher. Bronn had carried him the rest of the way, and the humiliation poured oil on the\nflames of his anger. “It would seem I’ve been a busy little fellow,” he said with bitter\nsarcasm. “I wonder when I found the time to do all this slaying and murdering.”\n\nHe ought to have remembered who he was dealing with. Lysa Arryn and her half-sane\nweakling son had not been known at court for their love of wit, especially when it was\ndirected at them.\n\n“Imp,” Lysa said coldly, “you will guard that mocking tongue of yours and speak to my\nson politely, or I promise you will have cause to regret it. Remember where you are. This\nis the Eyrie, and these are knights of the Vale you see around you, true men who loved\nJon Arryn well. Every one of them would die for me.”\n\n“Lady Arryn, should any harm come to me, my brother Jaime will be pleased to see that\nthey do.” Even as he spat out the words, Tyrion knew they were folly.\n\n“Can you fly, my lord of Lannister?” Lady Lysa asked. “Does a dwarf have wings? If not,\n"
## [379] "you would be wiser to swallow the next threat that comes to mind.”\n\n“I made no threats,” Tyrion said. “That was a promise.”\n\nLittle Lord Robert hopped to his feet at that, so upset he dropped his doll. “You can’t\nhurt us,” he screamed. “No one can hurt us here. Tell him, Mother, tell him he can’t hurt\nus here.” The boy began to twitch.\n\n“The Eyrie is impregnable,” Lysa Arryn declared calmly. She drew her son close, holding\nhim safe in the circle of her plump white arms. “The Imp is trying to frighten us, sweet\nbaby. The Lannisters are all liars. No one will hurt my sweet boy.”\n\nThe hell of it was, she was no doubt right. Having seen what it took to get here, Tyrion\ncould well imagine how it would be for a knight trying to fight his way up in armor, while\nstones and arrows poured down from above and enemies contested with him for every\nstep. Nightmare did not begin to describe it. Small wonder the Eyrie had never been\ntaken.\n\nStill, Tyrion had been unable to silence himself. “Not impregnable,” he said, “merely\ninconvenient.”\n\nYoung Robert pointed down, his hand trembling. “You’re a liar. Mother, I want to see\nhim fly.” Two guardsmen in sky-blue cloaks seized Tyrion by the arms, lifting him off his\nfloor.\n\nThe gods only know what might have happened then were it not for Catelyn Stark.\n“Sister,” she called out from where she stood below the thrones, “I beg you to remember,\nthis man is my prisoner. I will not have him harmed.”\n\nLysa Arryn glanced at her sister coolly for a moment, then rose and swept down on\nTyrion, her long skirts trailing after her. For an instant he feared she would strike him,\nbut instead she commanded them to release him. Her men shoved him to the floor, his\nlegs went out from under him, and Tyrion fell.\n\nHe must have made quite a sight as he struggled to his knees, only to feel his right leg\nspasm, sending him sprawling once more. Laughter boomed up and down the High Hall\nof the Arryns.\n\n“My sister’s little guest is too weary to stand,” Lady Lysa announced. “Ser Vardis, take\nhim down to the dungeon. A rest in one of our sky cells will do him much good.”\n\nThe guardsmen jerked him upright. Tyrion Lannister dangled between them, kicking\n"
## [380] "feebly, his face red with shame. “I will remember this,” he told them all as they carried\nhim off.\n\nAnd so he did, for all the good it did him.\n\nAt first he had consoled himself that this imprisonment could not last long. Lysa Arryn\nwanted to humble him, that was all. She would send for him again, and soon. If not her,\nthen Catelyn Stark would want to question him. This time he would guard his tongue\nmore closely. They dare not kill him out of hand; he was still a Lannister of Casterly\nRock, and if they shed his blood, it would mean war. Or so he had told himself.\n\nNow he was not so certain.\n\nPerhaps his captors only meant to let him rot here, but he feared he did not have the\nstrength to rot for long. He was growing weaker every day, and it was only a matter of\ntime until Mord’s kicks and blows did him serious harm, provided the gaoler did not\nstarve him to death first. A few more nights of cold and hunger, and the blue would start\ncalling to him too.\n\nHe wondered what was happening beyond the walls (such as they were) of his cell. Lord\nTywin would surely have sent out riders when the word reached him. Jaime might be\nleading a host through the Mountains of the Moon even now . . . unless he was riding\nnorth against Winterfell instead. Did anyone outside the Vale even suspect where\nCatelyn Stark had taken him? He wondered what Cersei would do when she heard. The\nking could order him freed, but would Robert listen to his queen or his Hand? Tyrion\nhad no illusions about the king’s love for his sister.\n\nIf Cersei kept her wits about her, she would insist the king sit in judgment of Tyrion\nhimself. Even Ned Stark could scarcely object to that, not without impugning the honor\nof the king. And Tyrion would be only too glad to take his chances in a trial. Whatever\nmurders they might lay at his door, the Starks had no proof of anything so far as he\ncould see. Let them make their case before the Iron Throne and the lords of the land. It\nwould be the end of them. If only Cersei were clever enough to see that . . .\n\nTyrion Lannister sighed. His sister was not without a certain low cunning, but her pride\nblinded her. She would see the insult in this, not the opportunity. And Jaime was even\nworse, rash and headstrong and quick to anger. His brother never untied a knot when he\ncould slash it in two with his sword.\n\nHe wondered which of them had sent the footpad to silence the Stark boy, and whether\nthey had truly conspired at the death of Lord Arryn. If the old Hand had been murdered,\nit was deftly and subtly done. Men of his age died of sudden illness all the time. In\n"
## [381] "contrast, sending some oaf with a stolen knife after Brandon Stark struck him as\nunbelievably clumsy. And wasn’t that peculiar, come to think on it . . .\n\nTyrion shivered. Now there was a nasty suspicion. Perhaps the direwolf and the lion\nwere not the only beasts in the woods, and if that was true, someone was using him as a\ncatspaw. Tyrion Lannister hated being used.\n\nHe would have to get out of here, and soon. His chances of overpowering Mord were\nsmall to none, and no one was about to smuggle him a six-hundred-foot-long rope, so he\nwould have to talk himself free. His mouth had gotten him into this cell; it could damn\nwell get him out.\n\nTyrion pushed himself to his feet, doing his best to ignore the slope of the floor beneath\nhim, with its ever-so-subtle tug toward the edge. He hammered on the door with a fist.\n“Mord!” he shouted. “Turnkey! Mord, I want you!” He had to keep it up a good ten\nminutes before he heard footsteps. Tyrion stepped back an instant before the door\nopened with a crash.\n\n“Making noise,” Mord growled, with blood in his eyes. Dangling from one meaty hand\nwas a leather strap, wide and thick, doubled over in his fist.\n\nNever show them you’re afraid, Tyrion reminded himself. “How would you like to be\nrich?” he asked.\n\nMord hit him. He swung the strap backhand, lazily, but the leather caught Tyrion high\non the arm. The force of it staggered him, and the pain made him grit his teeth. “No\nmouth, dwarf man,” Mord warned him.\n\n“Gold,” Tyrion said, miming a smile. “Casterly Rock is full of gold . . . ahhhh . . . ” This\ntime the blow was a forehand, and Mord put more of his arm into the swing, making the\nleather crack and jump. It caught Tyrion in the ribs and dropped him to his knees,\nwimpering. He forced himself to look up at the gaoler. “As rich as the Lannisters,” he\nwheezed. “That’s what they say, Mord—”\n\nMord grunted. The strap whistled through the air and smashed Tyrion full in the face.\nThe pain was so bad he did not remember falling, but when he opened his eyes again he\nwas on the floor of his cell. His ear was ringing, and his mouth was full of blood. He\ngroped for purchase, to push himself up, and his fingers brushed against . . . nothing.\nTyrion snatched his hand back as fast as if it had been scalded, and tried his best to stop\nbreathing. He had fallen right on the edge, inches from the blue.\n\n“More to say?” Mord held the strap between his fists and gave it a sharp pull. The snap\n"
## [382] "made Tyrion jump. The turnkey laughed.\n\nHe won’t push me over, Tyrion told himself desperately as he crawled away from the\nedge. Catelyn Stark wants me alive, he doesn’t dare kill me. He wiped the blood off his\nlips with the back of his hand, grinned, and said, “That was a stiff one, Mord.” The gaoler\nsquinted at him, trying to decide if he was being mocked. “I could make good use of a\nstrong man like you.” The strap flew at him, but this time Tyrion was able to cringe away\nfrom it. He took a glancing blow to the shoulder, nothing more. “Gold,” he repeated,\nscrambling backward like a crab, “more gold than you’ll see here in a lifetime. Enough to\nbuy land, women, horses . . . you could be a lord. Lord Mord.” Tyrion hawked up a glob\nof blood and phlegm and spat it out into the sky.\n\n“Is no gold,” Mord said.\n\nHe’s listening! Tyrion thought. “They relieved me of my purse when they captured me,\nbut the gold is still mine. Catelyn Stark might take a man prisoner, but she’d never stoop\nto rob him. That wouldn’t be honorable. Help me, and all the gold is yours.” Mord’s strap\nlicked out, but it was a halfhearted, desultory swing, slow and contemptuous. Tyrion\ncaught the leather in his hand and held it prisoned. “There will be no risk to you. All you\nneed do is deliver a message.”\n\nThe gaoler yanked his leather strap free of Tyrion’s grasp. “Message,” he said, as if he\nhad never heard the word before. His frown made deep creases in his brow.\n\n“You heard me, my lord. Only carry my word to your lady. Tell her . . . ” What? What\nwould possibly make Lysa Anyn relent? The inspiration came to Tyrion Lannister\nsuddenly. “ . . . .tell her that I wish to confess my crimes.”\n\nMord raised his arm and Tyrion braced himself for another blow, but the turnkey\nhesitated. Suspicion and greed warred in his eyes. He wanted that gold, yet he feared a\ntrick; he had the look of a man who had often been tricked. “Is lie,” he muttered darkly.\n“Dwarf man cheat me.”\n\n“I will put my promise in writing,” Tyrion vowed.\n\nSome illiterates held writing in disdain; others seemed to have a superstitious reverence\nfor the written word, as if it were some sort of magic. Fortunately, Mord was one of the\nlatter. The turnkey lowered the strap. “Writing down gold. Much gold.”\n\n“Oh, much gold,” Tyrion assured him. “The purse is just a taste, my friend. My brother\nwears armor of solid gold plate.” In truth, Jaime’s armor was gilded steel, but this oaf\nwould never know the difference.\n"
## [383] "Mord fingered his strap thoughtfully, but in the end, he relented and went to fetch paper\nand ink. When the letter was written, the gaoler frowned at it suspiciously. “Now deliver\nmy message,” Tyrion urged.\n\nHe was shivering in his sleep when they came for him, late that night. Mord opened the\ndoor but kept his silence. Ser Vardis Egen woke Tyrion with the point of his boot. “On\nyour feet, Imp. My lady wants to see you.”\n\nTyrion rubbed the sleep from his eyes and put on a grimace he scarcely felt. “No doubt\nshe does, but what makes you think I wish to see her?”\n\nSer Vardis frowned. Tyrion remembered him well from the years he had spent at King’s\nLanding as the captain of the Hand’s household guard. A square, plain face, silver hair, a\nheavy build, and no humor whatsoever. “Your wishes are not my concern. On your feet,\nor I’ll have you carried.”\n\nTyrion clambered awkwardly to his feet. “A cold night,” he said casually, “and the High\nHall is so drafty. I don’t wish to catch a chill. Mord, if you would be so good, fetch my\ncloak.”\n\nThe gaoler squinted at him, face dull with suspicion.\n\n“My cloak,” Tyrion repeated. “The shadowskin you took from me for safekeeping. You\nrecall.”\n\n“Get him the damnable cloak,” Ser Vardis said.\n\nMord did not dare grumble. He gave Tyrion a glare that promised future retribution, yet\nhe went for the cloak. When he draped it around his prisoner’s neck, Tyrion smiled. “My\nthanks. I shall think of you whenever I wear it.” He flung the trailing end of the long fur\nover his right shoulder, and felt warm for the first time in days. “Lead on, Ser Vardis.”\n\nThe High Hall of the Arryns was aglow with the light of fifty torches, burning in the\nsconces along the walls. The Lady Lysa wore black silk, with the moon-and-falcon sewn\non her breast in pearls. Since she did not look the sort to join the Night’s Watch, Tyrion\ncould only imagine that she had decided mourning clothes were appropriate garb for a\nconfession. Her long auburn hair, woven into an elaborate braid, fell across her left\nshoulder. The taller throne beside her was empty; no doubt the little Lord of the Eyrie\nwas off shaking in his sleep. Tyrion was thankful for that much, at least.\n\nHe bowed deeply and took a moment to glance around the hall. Lady Arryn had\n"
## [384] "summoned her knights and retainers to hear his confession, as he had hoped. He saw\nSer Brynden Tully’s craggy face and Lord Nestor Royce’s bluff one. Beside Nestor stood a\nyounger man with fierce black side-whiskers who could only be his heir, Ser Albar. Most\nof the principal houses of the Vale were represented. Tyrion noted Ser Lyn Corbray,\nslender as a sword, Lord Hunter with his gouty legs, the widowed Lady Waynwood\nsurrounded by her sons. Others sported sigils he did not know; broken lance, green\nviper, burning tower, winged chalice.\n\nAmong the lords of the Vale were several of his companions from the high road; Ser\nRodrik Cassel, pale from half-healed wounds, stood with Ser Willis Wode beside him.\nMarillion the singer had found a new woodharp. Tyrion smiled; whatever happened here\ntonight, he did not wish it to happen in secret, and there was no one like a singer for\nspreading a story near and far.\n\nIn the rear of the hall, Bronn lounged beneath a pillar. The freerider’s black eyes were\nfixed on Tyrion, and his hand lay lightly on the pommel of his sword. Tyrion gave him a\nlong look, wondering . . .\n\nCatelyn Stark spoke first. “You wish to confess your crimes, we are told.”\n\n“I do, my lady,” Tyrion answered.\n\nLysa Arryn smiled at her sister. “The sky cells always break them. The gods can see them\nthere, and there is no darkness to hide in.”\n\n“He does not look broken to me,” Lady Catelyn said.\n\nLady Lysa paid her no mind. “Say what you will,” she commanded Tyrion.\n\nAnd now to roll the dice, he thought with another quick glance back at Bronn. “Where to\nbegin? I am a vile little man, I confess it. My crimes and sins are beyond counting, my\nlords and ladies. I have lain with whores, not once but hundreds of times. I have wished\nmy own lord father dead, and my sister, our gracious queen, as well.” Behind him,\nsomeone chuckled. “I have not always treated my servants with kindness. I have\ngambled. I have even cheated, I blush to admit. I have said many cruel and malicious\nthings about the noble lords and ladies of the court.” That drew outright laughter. “Once\nI—”\n\n“Silence!” Lysa Arryn’s pale round face had turned a burning pink. “What do you\nimagine you are doing, dwarf?”\n\nTyrion cocked his head to one side. “Why, confessing my crimes, my lady—”\n"
## [385] "Catelyn Stark took a step forward. “You are accused of sending a hired knife to slay my\nson Bran in his bed, and of conspiring to murder Lord Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King.”\n\nTyrion gave a helpless shrug. “Those crimes I cannot confess, I fear. I know nothing of\nany murders.”\n\nLady Lysa rose from her weirwood throne. “I will not be made mock of. You have had\nyour little jape, Imp. I trust you enjoyed it. Ser Vardis, take him back to the\ndungeon . . . but this time find him a smaller cell, with a floor more sharply sloped.”\n\n“Is this how justice is done in the Vale?” Tyrion roared, so loudly that Ser Vardis froze\nfor an instant. “Does honor stop at the Bloody Gate? You accuse me of crimes, I deny\nthem, so you throw me into an open cell to freeze and starve.” He lifted his head, to give\nthem all a good look at the bruises Mord had left on his face. “Where is the king’s\njustice? Is the Eyrie not part of the Seven Kingdoms? I stand accused, you say. Very well.\nI demand a trial! Let me speak, and let my truth or falsehood be judged openly, in the\nsight of gods and men.”\n\nA low murmuring filled the High Hall. He had her, Tyrion knew. He was highborn, the\nson of the most powerful lord in the realm, the brother of the queen. He could not be\ndenied a trial. Guardsmen in sky-blue cloaks had started toward Tyrion, but Ser Vardis\nbid them halt and looked to Lady Lysa.\n\nHer small mouth twitched in a petulant smile. “If you are tried and found to be guilty of\nthe crimes for which you stand accused, then by the king’s own laws, you must pay with\nyour life’s blood. We keep no headsman in the Eyrie, my lord of Lannister. Open the\nMoon Door.”\n\nThe press of spectators parted. A narrow weirwood door stood between two slender\nmarble pillars, a crescent moon carved in the white wood. Those standing closest edged\nbackward as a pair of guardsmen marched through. One man removed the heavy bronze\nbars; the second pulled the door inward. Their blue cloaks rose snapping from their\nshoulders, caught in the sudden gust of wind that came howling through the open door.\nBeyond was the emptiness of the night sky, speckled with cold uncaring stars.\n\n“Behold the king’s justice,” Lysa Arryn said. Torch flames fluttered like pennons along\nthe walls, and here and there the odd torch guttered out.\n\n“Lysa, I think this unwise,” Catelyn Stark said as the black wind swirled around the hall.\n\nHer sister ignored her. “You want a trial, my lord of Lannister. Very well, a trial you shall\n"
## [386] "have. My son will listen to whatever you care to say, and you shall hear his judgment.\nThen you may leave . . . by one door or the other.”\n\nShe looked so pleased with herself, Tyrion thought, and small wonder. How could a trial\nthreaten her, when her weakling son was the lord judge? Tyrion glanced at her Moon\nDoor. Mother, I want to see him fly! the boy had said. How many men had the snot-\nnosed little wretch sent through that door already?\n\n“I thank you, my good lady, but I see no need to trouble Lord Robert,” Tyrion said\npolitely. “The gods know the truth of my innocence. I will have their verdict, not the\njudgment of men. I demand trial by combat.”\n\nA storm of sudden laughter filled the High Hall of the Arryns. Lord Nestor Royce\nsnorted, Ser Willis chuckled, Ser Lyn Corbray guffawed, and others threw back their\nheads and howled until tears ran down their faces. Marillion clumsily plucked a gay note\non his new woodharp with the fingers of his broken hand. Even the wind seemed to\nwhistle with derision as it came skirling through the Moon Door.\n\nLysa Arryn’s watery blue eyes looked uncertain. He had caught her off balance. “You\nhave that right, to be sure.”\n\nThe young knight with the green viper embroidered on his surcoat stepped forward and\nwent to one knee. “My lady, I beg the boon of championing your cause.”\n\n“The honor should be mine,” old Lord Hunter said. “For the love I bore your lord\nhusband, let me avenge his death.”\n\n“My father served Lord Jon faithfully as High Steward of the Vale,” Ser Albar Royce\nboomed. “Let me serve his son in this.”\n\n“The gods favor the man with the just cause,” said Ser Lyn Corbray, “yet often that turns\nout to be the man with the surest sword. We all know who that is.” He smiled modestly.\n\nA dozen other men all spoke at once, clamoring to be heard. Tyrion found it\ndisheartening to realize so many strangers were eager to kill him. Perhaps this had not\nbeen such a clever plan after all.\n\nLady Lysa raised a hand for silence. “I thank you, my lords, as I know my son would\nthank you if he were among us. No men in the Seven Kingdoms are as bold and true as\nthe knights of the Vale. Would that I could grant you all this honor. Yet I can choose only\none.” She gestured. “Ser Vardis Egen, you were ever my lord husband’s good right hand.\nYou shall be our champion.”\n"
## [387] "Ser Vardis had been singularly silent. “My lady,” he said gravely, sinking to one knee,\n“pray give this burden to another, I have no taste for it. The man is no warrior. Look at\nhim. A dwarf, half my size and lame in the legs. It would be shameful to slaughter such a\nman and call it justice.”\n\nOh, excellent, Tyrion thought. “I agree.”\n\nLysa glared at him. “You demanded a trial by combat.”\n\n“And now I demand a champion, such as you have chosen for yourself. My brother\nJaime will gladly take my part, I know.”\n\n“Your precious Kingslayer is hundreds of leagues from here,” snapped Lysa Arryn.\n\n“Send a bird for him. I will gladly await his arrival.”\n\n“You will face Ser Vardis on the morrow.”\n\n“Singer,” Tyrion said, turning to Marillion, “when you make a ballad of this, be certain\nyou tell them how Lady Arryn denied the dwarf the right to a champion, and sent him\nforth lame and bruised and hobbling to face her finest knight.”\n\n“I deny you nothing!” Lysa Arryn said, her voice peeved and shrill with irritation. “Name\nyour champion, Imp . . . if you think you can find a man to die for you.”\n\n“If it is all the same to you, I’d sooner find one to kill for me.” Tyrion looked over the\nlong hall. No one moved. For a long moment he wondered if it had all been a colossal\nblunder.\n\nThen there was a stirring in the rear of the chamber. “I’ll stand for the dwarf,” Bronn\ncalled out.\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [388] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n EDDARD\nHe dreamt an old dream, of three knights in white cloaks, and a tower long fallen, and\nLyanna in her bed of blood.\n\nIn the dream his friends rode with him, as they had in life. Proud Martyn Cassel, Jory’s\nfather; faithful Theo Wull; Ethan Glover, who had been Brandon’s squire; Ser Mark\nRyswell, soft of speech and gentle of heart; the crannogman, Howland Reed; Lord\nDustin on his great red stallion. Ned had known their faces as well as he knew his own\nonce, but the years leech at a man’s memories, even those he has vowed never to forget.\nIn the dream they were only shadows, grey wraiths on horses made of mist.\n\nThey were seven, facing three. In the dream as it had been in life. Yet these were no\nordinary three. They waited before the round tower, the red mountains of Dorne at their\nbacks, their white cloaks blowing in the wind. And these were no shadows; their faces\nburned clear, even now. Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, had a sad smile on\nhis lips. The hilt of the greatsword Dawn poked up over his right shoulder. Ser Oswell\nWhent was on one knee, sharpening his blade with a whetstone. Across his white-\nenameled helm, the black bat of his House spread its wings. Between them stood fierce\nold Ser Gerold Hightower, the White Bull, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.\n\n“I looked for you on the Trident,” Ned said to them.\n\n“We were not there,” Ser Gerold answered.\n\n“Woe to the Usurper if we had been,” said Ser Oswell.\n\n“When King’s Landing fell, Ser Jaime slew your king with a golden sword, and I\nwondered where you were.”\n\n“Far away,” Ser Gerold said, “or Aerys would yet sit the Iron Throne, and our false\nbrother would burn in seven hells.”\n\n“I came down on Storm’s End to lift the siege,” Ned told them, “and the Lords Tyrell and\nRedwyne dipped their banners, and all their knights bent the knee to pledge us fealty. I\nwas certain you would be among them.”\n"
## [389] "“Our knees do not bend easily,” said Ser Arthur Dayne.\n\n“Ser Willem Darry is fled to Dragonstone, with your queen and Prince Viserys. I thought\nyou might have sailed with him.”\n\n“Ser Willem is a good man and true,” said Ser Oswell.\n\n“But not of the Kingsguard,” Ser Gerold pointed out. “The Kingsguard does not flee.”\n\n“Then or now,” said Ser Arthur. He donned his helm.\n\n“We swore a vow,” explained old Ser Gerold.\n\nNed’s wraiths moved up beside him, with shadow swords in hand. They were seven\nagainst three.\n\n“And now it begins,” said Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. He unsheathed\nDawn and held it with both hands. The blade was pale as milkglass, alive with light.\n\n“No,” Ned said with sadness in his voice. “Now it ends.” As they came together in a rush\nof steel and shadow, he could hear Lyanna screaming. “Eddard!” she called. A storm of\nrose petals blew across a blood-streaked sky, as blue as the eyes of death.\n\n“Lord Eddard,” Lyanna called again.\n\n“I promise,” he whispered. “Lya, I promise . . . ”\n\n“Lord Eddard,” a man echoed from the dark.\n\nGroaning, Eddard Stark opened his eyes. Moonlight streamed through the tall windows\nof the Tower of the Hand.\n\n“Lord Eddard?” A shadow stood over the bed.\n\n“How . . . how long?” The sheets were tangled, his leg splinted and plastered. A dull\nthrob of pain shot up his side.\n\n“Six days and seven nights.” The voice was Vayon Poole’s. The steward held a cup to\nNed’s lips. “Drink, my lord.”\n\n“What . . . ?”\n"
## [390] "“Only water. Maester Pycelle said you would be thirsty.”\n\nNed drank. His lips were parched and cracked. The water tasted sweet as honey.\n\n“The king left orders,” Vayon Poole told him when the cup was empty. “He would speak\nwith you, my lord.”\n\n“On the morrow,” Ned said. “When I am stronger.” He could not face Robert now. The\ndream had left him weak as a kitten.\n\n“My lord,” Poole said, “he commanded us to send you to him the moment you opened\nyour eyes.” The steward busied himself lighting a bedside candle.\n\nNed cursed softly. Robert was never known for his patience. “Tell him I’m too weak to\ncome to him. If he wishes to speak with me, I should be pleased to receive him here. I\nhope you wake him from a sound sleep. And summon . . . ” He was about to say Jory\nwhen he remembered. “Summon the captain of my guard.”\n\nAlyn stepped into the bedchamber a few moments after the steward had taken his leave.\n“My lord.”\n\n“Poole tells me it has been six days,” Ned said. “I must know how things stand.”\n\n“The Kingslayer is fled the city,” Alyn told him. “The talk is he’s ridden back to Casterly\nRock to join his father. The story of how Lady Catelyn took the Imp is on every lip. I have\nput on extra guards, if it please you.”\n\n“It does,” Ned assured him. “My daughters?”\n\n“They have been with you every day, my lord. Sansa prays quietly, but Arya . . . ” He\nhesitated. “She has not said a word since they brought you back. She is a fierce little\nthing, my lord. I have never seen such anger in a girl.”\n\n“Whatever happens,” Ned said, “I want my daughters kept safe. I fear this is only the\nbeginning.”\n\n“No harm will come to them, Lord Eddard,” Alyn said. “I stake my life on that.”\n\n“Jory and the others . . . ”\n\n“I gave them over to the silent sisters, to be sent north to Winterfell. Jory would want to\n"
## [391] "lie beside his grandfather.”\n\nIt would have to be his grandfather, for Jory’s father was buried far to the south. Martyn\nCassel had perished with the rest. Ned had pulled the tower down afterward, and used\nits bloody stones to build eight cairns upon the ridge. It was said that Rhaegar had\nnamed that place the tower of joy, but for Ned it was a bitter memory. They had been\nseven against three, yet only two had lived to ride away; Eddard Stark himself and the\nlittle crannogman, Howland Reed. He did not think it omened well that he should dream\nthat dream again after so many years.\n\n“You’ve done well, Alyn,” Ned was saying when Vayon Poole returned. The steward\nbowed low. “His Grace is without, my lord, and the queen with him.”\n\nNed pushed himself up higher, wincing as his leg trembled with pain. He had not\nexpected Cersei to come. It did not bode well that she had. “Send them in, and leave us.\nWhat we have to say should not go beyond these walls.” Poole withdrew quietly.\n\nRobert had taken time to dress. He wore a black velvet doublet with the crowned stag of\nBaratheon worked upon the breast in golden thread, and a golden mantle with a cloak of\nblack and gold squares. A flagon of wine was in his hand, his face already flushed from\ndrink. Cersei Lannister entered behind him, a jeweled tiara in her hair.\n\n“Your Grace,” Ned said. “Your pardons. I cannot rise.”\n\n“No matter,” the king said gruffly. “Some wine? From the Arbor. A good vintage.”\n\n“A small cup,” Ned said. “My head is still heavy from the milk of the poppy.”\n\n“A man in your place should count himself fortunate that his head is still on his\nshoulders,” the queen declared.\n\n“Quiet, woman,” Robert snapped. He brought Ned a cup of wine. “Does the leg still pain\nyou?”\n\n“Some,” Ned said. His head was swimming, but it would not do to admit to weakness in\nfront of the queen.\n\n“Pycelle swears it will heal clean.” Robert frowned. “I take it you know what Catelyn has\ndone?”\n\n“I do.” Ned took a small swallow of wine. “My lady wife is blameless, Your Grace. All she\n"
## [392] "did she did at my command.”\n\n“I am not pleased, Ned,” Robert grumbled.\n\n“By what right do you dare lay hands on my blood?” Cersei demanded. “Who do you\nthink you are?”\n\n“The Hand of the King,” Ned told her with icy courtesy. “Charged by your own lord\nhusband to keep the king’s peace and enforce the king’s justice.”\n\n“You were the Hand,” Cersei began, “but now—”\n\n“Silence!” the king roared. “You asked him a question and he answered it.” Cersei\nsubsided, cold with anger, and Robert turned back to Ned. “Keep the king’s peace, you\nsay. Is this how you keep my peace, Ned? Seven men are dead . . . ”\n\n“Eight,” the queen corrected. “Tregar died this morning, of the blow Lord Stark gave\nhim.”\n\n“Abductions on the kingsroad and drunken slaughter in my streets,” the king said. “I will\nnot have it, Ned.”\n\n“Catelyn had good reason for taking the Imp—”\n\n“I said, I will not have it! To hell with her reasons. You will command her to release the\ndwarf at once, and you will make your peace with Jaime.”\n\n“Three of my men were butchered before my eyes, because Jaime Lannister wished to\nchasten me. Am I to forget that?”\n\n“My brother was not the cause of this quarrel,” Cersei told the king. “Lord Stark was\nreturning drunk from a brothel. His men attacked Jaime and his guards, even as his wife\nattacked Tyrion on the kingsroad.”\n\n“You know me better than that, Robert,” Ned said. “Ask Lord Baelish if you doubt me.\nHe was there.”\n\n“I’ve talked to Littlefinger,” Robert said. “He claims he rode off to bring the gold cloaks\nbefore the fighting began, but he admits you were returning from some whorehouse.”\n\n“Some whorehouse? Damn your eyes, Robert, I went there to have a look at your\n"
## [393] "daughter! Her mother has named her Barra. She looks like that first girl you fathered,\nwhen we were boys together in the Vale.” He watched the queen as he spoke; her face\nwas a mask, still and pale, betraying nothing.\n\nRobert flushed. “Barra,” he grumbled. “Is that supposed to please me? Damn the girl. I\nthought she had more sense.”\n\n“She cannot be more than fifteen, and a whore, and you thought she had sense?” Ned\nsaid, incredulous. His leg was beginning to pain him sorely. It was hard to keep his\ntemper. “The fool child is in love with you, Robert.”\n\nThe king glanced at Cersei. “This is no fit subject for the queen’s ears.”\n\n“Her Grace will have no liking for anything I have to say,” Ned replied. “I am told the\nKingslayer has fled the city. Give me leave to bring him back to justice.”\n\nThe king swirled the wine in his cup, brooding. He took a swallow. “No,” he said. “I want\nno more of this. Jaime slew three of your men, and you five of his. Now it ends.”\n\n“Is that your notion of justice?” Ned flared. “If so, I am pleased that I am no longer your\nHand.”\n\nThe queen looked to her husband. “If any man had dared speak to a Targaryen as he has\nspoken to you—”\n\n“Do you take me for Aerys?” Robert interrupted.\n\n“I took you for a king. Jaime and Tyrion are your own brothers, by all the laws of\nmarriage and the bonds we share. The Starks have driven off the one and seized the\nother. This man dishonors you with every breath he takes, and yet you stand there\nmeekly, asking if his leg pains him and would he like some wine.”\n\nRobert’s face was dark with anger. “How many times must I tell you to hold your tongue,\nwoman?”\n\nCersei’s face was a study in contempt. “What a jape the gods have made of us two,” she\nsaid. “By all rights, you ought to be in skirts and me in mail.”\n\nPurple with rage, the king lashed out, a vicious backhand blow to the side of the head.\nShe stumbled against the table and fell hard, yet Cersei Lannister did not cry out. Her\nslender fingers brushed her cheek, where the pale smooth skin was already reddening.\nOn the morrow the bruise would cover half her face. “I shall wear this as a badge of\n"
## [394] "honor,” she announced.\n\n“Wear it in silence, or I’ll honor you again,” Robert vowed. He shouted for a guard. Ser\nMeryn Trant stepped into the room, tall and somber in his white armor. “The queen is\ntired. See her to her bedchamber.” The knight helped Cersei to her feet and led her out\nwithout a word.\n\nRobert reached for the flagon and refilled his cup. “You see what she does to me, Ned.”\nThe king seated himself, cradling his wine cup. “My loving wife. The mother of my\nchildren.” The rage was gone from him now; in his eyes Ned saw something sad and\nscared. “I should not have hit her. That was not . . . that was not kingly.” He stared down\nat his hands, as if he did not quite know what they were. “I was always strong . . . no one\ncould stand before me, no one. How do you fight someone if you can’t hit them?”\nConfused, the king shook his head. “Rhaegar . . . Rhaegar won, damn him. I killed him,\nNed, I drove the spike right through that black armor into his black heart, and he died at\nmy feet. They made up songs about it. Yet somehow he still won. He has Lyanna now,\nand I have her.” The king drained his cup.\n\n“Your Grace,” Ned Stark said, “we must talk . . . ”\n\nRobert pressed his fingertips against his temples. “I am sick unto death of talk. On the\nmorrow I’m going to the kingswood to hunt. Whatever you have to say can wait until I\nreturn.”\n\n“If the gods are good, I shall not be here on your return. You commanded me to return to\nWinterfell, remember?”\n\nRobert stood up, grasping one of the bedposts to steady himself. “The gods are seldom\ngood, Ned. Here, this is yours.” He pulled the heavy silver hand clasp from a pocket in\nthe lining of his cloak and tossed it on the bed. “Like it or not, you are my Hand, damn\nyou. I forbid you to leave.”\n\nNed picked up the silver clasp. He was being given no choice, it seemed. His leg\nthrobbed, and he felt as helpless as a child. “The Targaryen girl—”\n\nThe king groaned. “Seven hells, don’t start with her again. That’s done, I’ll hear no more\nof it.”\n\n“Why would you want me as your Hand, if you refuse to listen to my counsel?”\n\n“Why?” Robert laughed. “Why not? Someone has to rule this damnable kingdom. Put on\nthe badge, Ned. It suits you. And if you ever throw it in my face again, I swear to you, I’ll\n"
## [395] "pin the damned thing on Jaime Lannister.”\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [396] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n CATELYN\nThe eastern sky was rose and gold as the sun broke over the Vale of Arryn. Catelyn Stark\nwatched the light spread, her hands resting on the delicate carved stone of the\nbalustrade outside her window. Below her the world turned from black to indigo to\ngreen as dawn crept across fields and forests. Pale white mists rose off Alyssa’s Tears,\nwhere the ghost waters plunged over the shoulder of the mountain to begin their long\ntumble down the face of the Giant’s Lance. Catelyn could feel the faint touch of spray on\nher face.\n\nAlyssa Arryn had seen her husband, her brothers, and all her children slain, and yet in\nlife she had never shed a tear. So in death, the gods had decreed that she would know no\nrest until her weeping watered the black earth of the Vale, where the men she had loved\nwere buried. Alyssa had been dead six thousand years now, and still no drop of the\ntorrent had ever reached the valley floor far below. Catelyn wondered how large a\nwaterfall her own tears would make when she died. “Tell me the rest of it,” she said.\n\n“The Kingslayer is massing a host at Casterly Rock,” Ser Rodrik Cassel answered from\nthe room behind her. “Your brother writes that he has sent riders to the Rock,\ndemanding that Lord Tywin proclaim his intent, but he has had no answer. Edmure has\ncommanded Lord Vance and Lord Piper to guard the pass below the Golden Tooth. He\nvows to you that he will yield no foot of Tully land without first watering it with\nLannister blood.”\n\nCatelyn turned away from the sunrise. Its beauty did little to lighten her mood; it seemed\ncruel for a day to dawn so fair and end so foul as this one promised to. “Edmure has sent\nriders and made vows,” she said, “but Edmure is not the Lord of Riverrun. What of my\nlord father?”\n\n“The message made no mention of Lord Hoster, my lady.” Ser Rodrik tugged at his\nwhiskers. They had grown in white as snow and bristly as a thornbush while he was\nrecovering from his wounds; he looked almost himself again.\n\n“My father would not have given the defense of Riverrun over to Edmure unless he was\nvery sick,” she said, worried. “I should have been woken as soon as this bird arrived.”\n\n“Your lady sister thought it better to let you sleep, Maester Colemon told me.”\n"
## [397] "“I should have been woken,” she insisted.\n\n“The maester tells me your sister planned to speak with you after the combat,” Ser\nRodrik said.\n\n“Then she still plans to go through with this mummer’s farce?” Catelyn grimaced. “The\ndwarf has played her like a set of pipes, and she is too deaf to hear the tune. Whatever\nhappens this morning, Ser Rodrik, it is past time we took our leave. My place is at\nWinterfell with my sons. If you are strong enough to travel, I shall ask Lysa for an escort\nto see us to Gulltown. We can take ship from there.”\n\n“Another ship?” Ser Rodrik looked a shade green, yet he managed not to shudder. “As\nyou say, my lady.”\n\nThe old knight waited outside her door as Catelyn summoned the servants Lysa had\ngiven her. If she spoke to her sister before the duel, perhaps she could change her mind,\nshe thought as they dressed her. Lysa’s policies varied with her moods, and her moods\nchanged hourly. The shy girl she had known at Riverrun had grown into a woman who\nwas by turns proud, fearful, cruel, dreamy, reckless, timid, stubborn, vain, and, above\nall, inconstant.\n\nWhen that vile turnkey of hers had come crawling to tell them that Tyrion Lannister\nwished to confess, Catelyn had urged Lysa to have the dwarf brought to them privately,\nbut no, nothing would do but that her sister must make a show of him before half the\nVale. And now this . . .\n\n“Lannister is my prisoner,” she told Ser Rodrik as they descended the tower stairs and\nmade their way through the Eyrie’s cold white halls. Catelyn wore plain grey wool with a\nsilvered belt. “My sister must be reminded of that.”\n\nAt the doors to Lysa’s apartments, they met her uncle storming out. “Going to join the\nfool’s festival?” Ser Brynden snapped. “I’d tell you to slap some sense into your sister, if I\nthought it would do any good, but you’d only bruise your hand.”\n\n“There was a bird from Riverrun,” Catelyn began, “a letter from Edmure . . . ”\n\n“I know, child.” The black fish that fastened his cloak was Brynden’s only concession to\nornament. “I had to hear it from Maester Colemon. I asked your sister for leave to take a\nthousand seasoned men and ride for Riverrun with all haste. Do you know what she told\nme? The Vale cannot spare a thousand swords, nor even one, Uncle, she said. You are\nthe Knight of the Gate. Your place is here.” A gust of childish laughter drifted through\n"
## [398] "the open doors behind him, and her uncle glanced darkly over his shoulder. “Well, I told\nher she could bloody well find herself a new Knight of the Gate. Black fish or no, I am\nstill a Tully. I shall leave for Riverrun by evenfall.”\n\nCatelyn could not pretend to surprise. “Alone? You know as well as I that you will never\nsurvive the high road. Ser Rodrik and I are returning to Winterfell. Come with us, Uncle.\nI will give you your thousand men. Riverrun will not fight alone.”\n\nBrynden thought a moment, then nodded a brusque agreement. “As you say. It’s the long\nway home, but I’m more like to get there. I’ll wait for you below.” He went striding off,\nhis cloak swirling behind him.\n\nCatelyn exchanged a look with Ser Rodrik. They went through the doors to the high,\nnervous sound of a child’s giggles.\n\nLysa’s apartments opened over a small garden, a circle of dirt and grass planted with\nblue flowers and ringed on all sides by tall white towers. The builders had intended it as\na godswood, but the Eyrie rested on the hard stone of the mountain, and no matter how\nmuch soil was hauled up from the Vale, they could not get a weirwood to take root here.\nSo the Lords of the Eyrie planted grass and scattered statuary amidst low, flowering\nshrubs. It was there the two champions would meet to place their lives, and that of\nTyrion Lannister, into the hands of the gods.\n\nLysa, freshly scrubbed and garbed in cream velvet with a rope of sapphires and\nmoonstones around her milk-white neck, was holding court on the terrace overlooking\nthe scene of the combat, surrounded by her knights, retainers, and lords high and low.\nMost of them still hoped to wed her, bed her, and rule the Vale of Arryn by her side.\nFrom what Catelyn had seen during her stay at the Eyrie, it was a vain hope.\n\nA wooden platform had been built to elevate Robert’s chair; there the Lord of the Eyrie\nsat, giggling and clapping his hands as a humpbacked puppeteer in blue-and-white\nmotley made two wooden knights hack and slash at each other. Pitchers of thick cream\nand baskets of blackberries had been set out, and the guests were sipping a sweet orange-\nscented wine from engraved silver cups. A fool’s festival, Brynden had called it, and\nsmall wonder.\n\nAcross the terrace, Lysa laughed gaily at some jest of Lord Hunter’s, and nibbled a\nblackberry from the point of Ser Lyn Corbray’s dagger. They were the suitors who stood\nhighest in Lysa’s favor . . . today, at least. Catelyn would have been hard-pressed to say\nwhich man was more unsuitable. Eon Hunter was even older than Jon Arryn had been,\nhalf-crippled by gout, and cursed with three quarrelsome sons, each more grasping than\nthe last. Ser Lyn was a different sort of folly; lean and handsome, heir to an ancient but\n"
## [399] "impoverished house, but vain, reckless, hot-tempered . . . and, it was whispered,\nnotoriously uninterested in the intimate charms of women.\n\nWhen Lysa espied Catelyn, she welcomed her with a sisterly embrace and a moist kiss on\nthe cheek. “Isn’t it a lovely morning? The gods are smiling on us. Do try a cup of the\nwine, sweet sister. Lord Hunter was kind enough to send for it, from his own cellars.”\n\n“Thank you, no. Lysa, we must talk.”\n\n“After,” her sister promised, already beginning to turn away from her.\n\n“Now.” Catelyn spoke more loudly than she’d intended. Men were turning to look. “Lysa,\nyou cannot mean to go ahead with this folly. Alive, the Imp has value. Dead, he is only\nfood for crows. And if his champion should prevail here—”\n\n“Small chance of that, my lady,” Lord Hunter assured her, patting her shoulder with a\nliver-spotted hand. “Ser Vardis is a doughty fighter. He will make short work of the\nsellsword.”\n\n“Will he, my lord?” Catelyn said coolly. “I wonder.” She had seen Bronn fight on the high\nroad; it was no accident that he had survived the journey while other men had died. He\nmoved like a panther, and that ugly sword of his seemed a part of his arm.\n\nLysa’s suitors were gathering around them like bees round a blossom. “Women\nunderstand little of these things,” Ser Morton Waynwood said. “Ser Vardis is a knight,\nsweet lady. This other fellow, well, his sort are all cowards at heart. Useful enough in a\nbattle, with thousands of their fellows around them, but stand them up alone and the\nmanhood leaks right out of them.”\n\n“Say you have the truth of it, then,” Catelyn said with a courtesy that made her mouth\nache. “What will we gain by the dwarf’s death? Do you imagine that Jaime will care a fig\nthat we gave his brother a trial before we flung him off a mountain?”\n\n“Behead the man,” Ser Lyn Corbray suggested. “When the Kingslayer receives the Imp’s\nhead, it will be a warning to him,”\n\nLysa gave an impatient shake of her waist-long auburn hair. “Lord Robert wants to see\nhim fly,” she said, as if that settled the matter. “And the Imp has only himself to blame.\nIt was he who demanded a trial by combat.”\n\n“Lady Lysa had no honorable way to deny him, even if she’d wished to,” Lord Hunter\nintoned ponderously.\n"
## [400] "Ignoring them all, Catelyn turned all her force on her sister. “I remind you, Tyrion\nLannister is my prisoner.”\n\n“And I remind you, the dwarf murdered my lord husband!” Her voice rose. “He\npoisoned the Hand of the King and left my sweet baby fatherless, and now I mean to see\nhim pay!” Whirling, her skirts swinging around her, Lysa stalked across the terrace. Ser\nLyn and Ser Morton and the other suitors excused themselves with cool nods and trailed\nafter her.\n\n“Do you think he did?” Ser Rodrik asked her quietly when they were alone again.\n“Murder Lord Jon, that is? The Imp still denies it, and most fiercely . . . ”\n\n“I believe the Lannisters murdered Lord Arryn,” Catelyn replied, “but whether it was\nTyrion, or Ser Jaime, or the queen, or all of them together, I could not begin to say.”\nLysa had named Cersei in the letter she had sent to Winterfell, but now she seemed\ncertain that Tyrion was the killer . . . perhaps because the dwarf was here, while the\nqueen was safe behind the walls of the Red Keep, hundreds of leagues to the south.\nCatelyn almost wished she had burned her sister’s letter before reading it.\n\nSer Rodrik tugged at his whiskers. “Poison, well . . . that could be the dwarf’s work, true\nenough. Or Cersei’s. It’s said poison is a woman’s weapon, begging your pardons, my\nlady. The Kingslayer, now . . . I have no great liking for the man, but he’s not the sort.\nToo fond of the sight of blood on that golden sword of his. Was it poison, my lady?”\n\nCatelyn frowned, vaguely uneasy. “How else could they make it look a natural death?”\nBehind her, Lord Robert shrieked with delight as one of the puppet knights sliced the\nother in half, spilling a flood of red sawdust onto the terrace. She glanced at her nephew\nand sighed. “The boy is utterly without discipline. He will never be strong enough to rule\nunless he is taken away from his mother for a time.”\n\n“His lord father agreed with you,” said a voice at her elbow. She turned to behold\nMaester Colemon, a cup of wine in his hand. “He was planning to send the boy to\nDragonstone for fostering, you know . . . oh, but I’m speaking out of turn.” The apple of\nhis throat bobbed anxiously beneath the loose maester’s chain. “I fear I’ve had too much\nof Lord Hunter’s excellent wine. The prospect of bloodshed has my nerves all a-fray . . . ”\n\n“You are mistaken, Maester,” Catelyn said. “It was Casterly Rock, not Dragonstone, and\nthose arrangements were made after the Hand’s death, without my sister’s consent.”\n\nThe maester’s head jerked so vigorously at the end of his absurdly long neck that he\nlooked half a puppet himself. “No, begging your forgiveness, my lady, but it was Lord\n"
## [401] "Jon who—”\n\nA bell tolled loudly below them. High lords and serving girls alike broke off what they\nwere doing and moved to the balustrade. Below, two guardsmen in sky-blue cloaks led\nforth Tyrion Lannister. The Eyrie’s plump septon escorted him to the statue in the center\nof the garden, a weeping woman carved in veined white marble, no doubt meant to be\nAlyssa.\n\n“The bad little man,” Lord Robert said, giggling. “Mother, can I make him fly? I want to\nsee him fly.”\n\n“Later, my sweet baby,” Lysa promised him.\n\n“Trial first,” drawled Ser Lyn Corbray, “then execution.”\n\nA moment later the two champions appeared from opposite sides of the garden. The\nknight was attended by two young squires, the sellsword by the Eyrie’s master-at-arms.\n\nSer Vardis Egen was steel from head to heel, encased in heavy plate armor over mail and\npadded surcoat. Large circular rondels, enameled cream-and-blue in the moon-and-\nfalcon sigil of House Arryn, protected the vulnerable juncture of arm and breast. A skirt\nof lobstered metal covered him from waist to midthigh, while a solid gorget encircled his\nthroat. Falcon’s wings sprouted from the temples of his helm, and his visor was a\npointed metal beak with a narrow slit for vision.\n\nBronn was so lightly armored he looked almost naked beside the knight. He wore only a\nshirt of black oiled ringmail over boiled leather, a round steel halfhelm with a\nnoseguard, and a mail coif. High leather boots with steel shinguards gave some\nprotection to his legs, and discs of black iron were sewn into the fingers of his gloves. Yet\nCatelyn noted that the sellsword stood half a hand taller than his foe, with a longer\nreach . . . and Bronn was fifteen years younger, if she was any judge.\n\nThey knelt in the grass beneath the weeping woman, facing each other, with Lannister\nbetween them. The septon removed a faceted crystal sphere from the soft cloth bag at his\nwaist. He lifted it high above his head, and the light shattered. Rainbows danced across\nthe Imp’s face. In a high, solemn, singsong voice, the septon asked the gods to look down\nand bear witness, to find the truth in this man’s soul, to grant him life and freedom if he\nwas innocent, death if he was guilty. His voice echoed off the surrounding towers.\n\nWhen the last echo had died away, the septon lowered his crystal and made a hasty\ndeparture. Tyrion leaned over and whispered something in Bronn’s ear before the\nguardsmen led him away. The sellsword rose laughing and brushed a blade of grass from\n"
## [402] "his knee.\n\nRobert Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie and Defender of the Vale, was fidgeting impatiently in\nhis elevated chair. “When are they going to fight?” he asked plaintively.\n\nSer Vardis was helped back to his feet by one of his squires. The other brought him a\ntriangular shield almost four feet tall, heavy oak dotted with iron studs. They strapped it\nto his left forearm. When Lysa’s master-at-arms offered Bronn a similar shield, the\nsellsword spat and waved it away. Three days growth of coarse black beard covered his\njaw and cheeks, but if he did not shave it was not for want of a razor; the edge of his\nsword had the dangerous glimmer of steel that had been honed every day for hours, until\nit was too sharp to touch.\n\nSer Vardis held out a gauntleted hand, and his squire placed a handsome double-edged\nlongsword in his grasp. The blade was engraved with a delicate silver tracery of a\nmountain sky; its pommel was a falcon’s head, its crossguard fashioned into the shape of\nwings. “I had that sword crafted for Jon in King’s Landing,” Lysa told her guests proudly\nas they watched Ser Vardis try a practice cut. “He wore it whenever he sat the Iron\nThrone in King Robert’s place. Isn’t it a lovely thing? I thought it only fitting that our\nchampion avenge Jon with his own blade.”\n\nThe engraved silver blade was beautiful beyond a doubt, but it seemed to Catelyn that\nSer Vardis might have been more comfortable with his own sword. Yet she said nothing;\nshe was weary of futile arguments with her sister.\n\n“Make them fight!” Lord Robert called out.\n\nSer Vardis faced the Lord of the Eyrie and lifted his sword in salute. “For the Eyrie and\nthe Vale!”\n\nTyrion Lannister had been seated on a balcony across the garden, flanked by his guards.\nIt was to him that Bronn turned with a cursory salute.\n\n“They await your command,” Lady Lysa said to her lord son.\n\n“Fight!” the boy screamed, his arms trembling as they clutched at his chair.\n\nSer Vardis swiveled, bringing up his heavy shield. Bronn turned to face him. Their\nswords rang together, once, twice, a testing. The sellsword backed off a step. The knight\ncame after, holding his shield before him. He tried a slash, but Bronn jerked back, just\nout of reach, and the silver blade cut only air. Bronn circled to his right. Ser Vardis\nturned to follow, keeping his shield between them. The knight pressed forward, placing\n"
## [403] "each foot carefully on the uneven ground. The sellsword gave way, a faint smile playing\nover his lips. Ser Vardis attacked, slashing, but Bronn leapt away from him, hopping\nlightly over a low, moss-covered stone. Now the sellsword circled left, away from the\nshield, toward the knight’s unprotected side. Ser Vardis tried a hack at his legs, but he\ndid not have the reach. Bronn danced farther to his left. Ser Vardis turned in place.\n\n“The man is craven,” Lord Hunter declared. “Stand and fight, coward! “ Other voices\nechoed the sentiment.\n\nCatelyn looked to Ser Rodrik. Her master-at-arms gave a curt shake of his head. “He\nwants to make Ser Vardis chase him. The weight of armor and shield will tire even the\nstrongest man.”\n\nShe had seen men practice at their swordplay near every day of her life, had viewed half\na hundred tourneys in her time, but this was something different and deadlier: a dance\nwhere the smallest misstep meant death. And as she watched, the memory of another\nduel in another time came back to Catelyn Stark, as vivid as if it had been yesterday.\n\nThey met in the lower bailey of Riverrun. When Brandon saw that Petyr wore only helm\nand breastplate and mail, he took off most of his armor. Petyr had begged her for a favor\nhe might wear, but she had turned him away. Her lord father promised her to Brandon\nStark, and so it was to him that she gave her token, a pale blue handscarf she had\nembroidered with the leaping trout of Riverrun. As she pressed it into his hand, she\npleaded with him. “He is only a foolish boy, but I have loved him like a brother. It would\ngrieve me to see him die.” And her betrothed looked at her with the cool grey eyes of a\nStark and promised to spare the boy who loved her.\n\nThat fight was over almost as soon as it began. Brandon was a man grown, and he drove\nLittlefinger all the way across the bailey and down the water stair, raining steel on him\nwith every step, until the boy was staggering and bleeding from a dozen wounds. “Yield!”\nhe called, more than once, but Petyr would only shake his head and fight on, grimly.\nWhen the river was lapping at their ankles, Brandon finally ended it, with a brutal\nbackhand cut that bit through Petyr’s rings and leather into the soft flesh below the ribs,\nso deep that Catelyn was certain that the wound was mortal. He looked at her as he fell\nand murmured “Cat” as the bright blood came flowing out between his mailed fingers.\nShe thought she had forgotten that.\n\nThat was the last time she had seen his face . . . until the day she was brought before him\nin King’s Landing.\n\nA fortnight passed before Littlefinger was strong enough to leave Riverrun, but her lord\nfather forbade her to visit him in the tower where he lay abed. Lysa helped their maester\n"
## [404] "nurse him; she had been softer and shyer in those days. Edmure had called on him as\nwell, but Petyr had sent him away. Her brother had acted as Brandon’s squire at the\nduel, and Littlefinger would not forgive that. As soon as he was strong enough to be\nmoved, Lord Hoster Tully sent Petyr Baelish away in a closed litter, to finish his healing\non the Fingers, upon the windswept jut of rock where he’d been born.\n\nThe ringing clash of steel on steel jarred Catelyn back to the present. Ser Vardis was\ncoming hard at Bronn, driving into him with shield and sword. The sellsword scrambled\nbackward, checking each blow, stepping lithely over rock and root, his eyes never leaving\nhis foe. He was quicker, Catelyn saw; the knight’s silvered sword never came near to\ntouching him, but his own ugly grey blade hacked a notch from Ser Vardis’s shoulder\nplate.\n\nThe brief flurry of fighting ended as swiftly as it had begun when Bronn sidestepped and\nslid behind the statue of the weeping woman. Ser Vardis lunged at where he had been,\nstriking a spark off the pale marble of Alyssa’s thigh.\n\n“They’re not fighting good, Mother,” the Lord of the Eyrie complained. “I want them to\nfight.”\n\n“They will, sweet baby,” his mother soothed him. “The sellsword can’t run all day.”\n\nSome of the lords on Lysa’s terrace were making wry jests as they refilled their wine\ncups, but across the garden, Tyrion Lannister’s mismatched eyes watched the champions\ndance as if there were nothing else in the world.\n\nBronn came out from behind the statue hard and fast, still moving left, aiming a two-\nhanded cut at the knight’s unshielded right side. Ser Vardis blocked, but clumsily, and\nthe sellsword’s blade flashed upward at his head. Metal rang, and a falcon’s wing\ncollapsed with a crunch. Ser Vardis took a half step back to brace himself, raised his\nshield. Oak chips flew as Bronn’s sword hacked at the wooden wall. The sellsword\nstepped left again, away from the shield, and caught Ser Vardis across the stomach, the\nrazor edge of his blade leaving a bright gash when it bit into the knight’s plate.\n\nSer Vardis drove forward off his back foot, his own silver blade descending in a savage\narc. Bronn slammed it aside and danced away. The knight crashed into the weeping\nwoman, rocking her on her plinth. Staggered, he stepped backward, his head turning\nthis way and that as he searched for his foe. The slit visor of his helm narrowed his\nvision.\n\n“Behind you, ser!” Lord Hunter shouted, too late. Bronn brought his sword down with\nboth hands, catching Ser Vardis in the elbow of his sword arm. The thin lobstered metal\n"
## [405] "that protected the joint crunched. The knight grunted, turning, wrenching his weapon\nup. This time Bronn stood his ground. The swords flew at each other, and their steel\nsong filled the garden and rang off the white towers of the Eyrie.\n\n“Ser Vardis is hurt,” Ser Rodrik said, his voice grave.\n\nCatelyn did not need to be told; she had eyes, she could see the bright finger of blood\nrunning along the knight’s forearm, the wetness inside the elbow joint. Every parry was\na little slower and a little lower than the one before. Ser Vardis turned his side to his foe,\ntrying to use his shield to block instead, but Bronn slid around him, quick as a cat. The\nsellsword seemed to be getting stronger. His cuts were leaving their marks now. Deep\nshiny gashes gleamed all over the knight’s armor, on his right thigh, his beaked visor,\ncrossing on his breastplate, a long one along the front of his gorget. The moon-and-\nfalcon rondel over Ser Vardis’s right arm was sheared clean in half, hanging by its strap.\nThey could hear his labored breath, rattling through the air holes in his visor.\n\nBlind with arrogance as they were, even the knights and lords of the Vale could see what\nwas happening below them, yet her sister could not. “Enough, Ser Vardis!” Lady Lysa\ncalled down. “Finish him now, my baby is growing tired.”\n\nAnd it must be said of Ser Vardis Egen that he was true to his lady’s command, even to\nthe last. One moment he was reeling backward, half-crouched behind his scarred shield;\nthe next he charged. The sudden bull rush caught Bronn off balance. Ser Vardis crashed\ninto him and slammed the lip of his shield into the sellsword’s face. Almost, almost,\nBronn lost his feet . . . he staggered back, tripped over a rock, and caught hold of the\nweeping woman to keep his balance. Throwing aside his shield, Ser Vardis lurched after\nhim, using both hands to raise his sword. His right arm was blood from elbow to fingers\nnow, yet his last desperate blow would have opened Bronn from neck to navel . . . if the\nsellsword had stood to receive it.\n\nBut Bronn jerked back. Jon Arryn’s beautiful engraved silver sword glanced off the\nmarble elbow of the weeping woman and snapped clean a third of the way up the blade.\nBronn put his shoulder into the statue’s back. The weathered likeness of Alyssa Arryn\ntottered and fell with a great crash, and Ser Vardis Egen went down beneath her.\n\nBronn was on him in a heartbeat, kicking what was left of his shattered rondel aside to\nexpose the weak spot between arm and breastplate. Ser Vardis was lying on his side,\npinned beneath the broken torso of the weeping woman. Catelyn heard the knight groan\nas the sellsword lifted his blade with both hands and drove it down and in with all his\nweight behind it, under the arm and through the ribs. Ser Vardis Egen shuddered and\nlay still.\n"
## [406] "Silence hung over the Eyrie. Bronn yanked off his halfhelm and let it fall to the grass. His\nlip was smashed and bloody where the shield had caught him, and his coal-black hair\nwas soaked with sweat. He spit out a broken tooth.\n\n“Is it over, Mother?” the Lord of the Eyrie asked.\n\nNo, Catelyn wanted to tell him, it’s only now beginning.\n\n“Yes,” Lysa said glumly, her voice as cold and dead as the captain of her guard.\n\n“Can I make the little man fly now?”\n\nAcross the garden, Tyrion Lannister got to his feet. “Not this little man,” he said. “This\nlittle man is going down in the turnip hoist, thank you very much.”\n\n“You presume—” Lysa began.\n\n“I presume that House Arryn remembers its own words,” the Imp said. “As High as\nHonor.”\n\n“You promised I could make him fly,” the Lord of the Eyrie screamed at his mother. He\nbegan to shake.\n\nLady Lysa’s face was flushed with fury. “The gods have seen fit to proclaim him\ninnocent, child. We have no choice but to free him.” She lifted her voice. “Guards. Take\nmy lord of Lannister and his . . . creature here out of my sight. Escort them to the Bloody\nGate and set them free. See that they have horses and supplies sufficient to reach the\nTrident, and make certain all their goods and weapons are returned to them. They shall\nneed them on the high road.”\n\n“The high road,” Tyrion Lannister said. Lysa allowed herself a faint, satisfied smile. It\nwas another sort of death sentence, Catelyn realized. Tyrion Lannister must know that\nas well. Yet the dwarf favored Lady Arryn with a mocking bow. “As you command, my\nlady,” he said. “I believe we know the way.”\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [407] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n JON\nYou are as hopeless as any boys I have ever trained,” Ser Alliser Thorne announced when\nthey had all assembled in the yard. “Your hands were made for manure shovels, not for\nswords, and if it were up to me, the lot of you would be set to herding swine. But last\nnight I was told that Gueren is marching five new boys up the kingsroad. One or two\nmay even be worth the price of piss. To make room for them, I have decided to pass eight\nof you on to the Lord Commander to do with as he will.” He called out the names one by\none. “Toad. Stone Head. Aurochs. Lover. Pimple. Monkey. Ser Loon.” Last, he looked at\nJon. “And the Bastard.”\n\nPyp let fly a whoop and thrust his sword into the air. Ser Alliser fixed him with a reptile\nstare. “They will call you men of Night’s Watch now, but you are bigger fools than the\nMummer’s Monkey here if you believe that. You are boys still, green and stinking of\nsummer, and when the winter comes you will die like flies.” And with that, Ser Alliser\nThorne took his leave of them.\n\nThe other boys gathered round the eight who had been named, laughing and cursing and\noffering congratulations. Halder smacked Toad on the butt with the flat of his sword and\nshouted, “Toad, of the Night’s Watch!” Yelling that a black brother needed a horse, Pyp\nleapt onto Grenn’s shoulders, and they tumbled to the ground, rolling and punching and\nhooting. Dareon dashed inside the armory and returned with a skin of sour red. As they\npassed the wine from hand to hand, grinning like fools, Jon noticed Samwell Tarly\nstanding by himself beneath a bare dead tree in the corner of the yard. Jon offered him\nthe skin. “A swallow of wine?”\n\nSam shook his head. “No thank you, Jon.”\n\n“Are you well?”\n\n“Very well, truly,” the fat boy lied. “I am so happy for you all.” His round face quivered as\nhe forced a smile. “You will be First Ranger someday, just as your uncle was.”\n\n“Is,” Jon corrected. He would not accept that Benjen Stark was dead. Before he could say\nmore, Haider cried, “Here, you planning to drink that all yourself?” Pyp snatched the\nskin from his hand and danced away, laughing. While Grenn seized his arm, Pyp gave\nthe skin a squeeze, and a thin stream of red squirted Jon in the face. Haider howled in\n"
## [408] "protest at the waste of good wine. Jon sputtered and struggled. Matthar and Jeren\nclimbed the wall and began pelting them all with snowballs.\n\nBy the time he wrenched free, with snow in his hair and wine stains on his surcoat,\nSamwell Tarly had gone.\n\nThat night, Three-Finger Hobb cooked the boys a special meal to mark the occasion.\nWhen Jon arrived at the common hall, the Lord Steward himself led him to the bench\nnear the fire. The older men clapped him on the arm in passing. The eight soon-to-be\nbrothers feasted on rack of lamb baked in a crust of garlic and herbs, garnished with\nsprigs of mint, and surrounded by mashed yellow turnips swimming in butter. “From\nthe Lord Commander’s own table,” Bowen Marsh told them. There were salads of\nspinach and chickpeas and turnip greens, and afterward bowls of iced blueberries and\nsweet cream.\n\n“Do you think they’ll keep us together?” Pyp wondered as they gorged themselves\nhappily.\n\nToad made a face. “I hope not. I’m sick of looking at those ears of yours.”\n\n“Ho,” said Pyp. “Listen to the crow call the raven black. You’re certain to be a ranger,\nToad. They’ll want you as far from the castle as they can. If Mance Rayder attacks, lift\nyour visor and show your face, and he’ll run off screaming.”\n\nEveryone laughed but Grenn. “I hope I’m a ranger.”\n\n“You and everyone else,” said Matthar. Every man who wore the black walked the Wall,\nand every man was expected to take up steel in its defense, but the rangers were the true\nfighting heart of the Night’s Watch. It was they who dared ride beyond the Wall,\nsweeping through the haunted forest and the icy mountain heights west of the Shadow\nTower, fighting wildlings and giants and monstrous snow bears.\n\n“Not everyone,” said Halder. “It’s the builders for me. What use would rangers be if the\nWall fell down?”\n\nThe order of builders provided the masons and carpenters to repair keeps and towers,\nthe miners to dig tunnels and crush stone for roads and footpaths, the woodsmen to\nclear away new growth wherever the forest pressed too close to the Wall. Once, it was\nsaid, they had quarried immense blocks of ice from frozen lakes deep in the haunted\nforest, dragging them south on sledges so the Wall might be raised ever higher. Those\ndays were centuries gone, however; now, it was all they could do to ride the Wall from\nEastwatch to the Shadow Tower, watching for cracks or signs of melt and making what\n"
## [409] "repairs they could.\n\n“The Old Bear’s no fool,” Dareon observed. “You’re certain to be a builder, and Jon’s\ncertain to be a ranger. He’s the best sword and the best rider among us, and his uncle\nwas the First before he . . . ” His voice trailed off awkwardly as he realized what he had\nalmost said.\n\n“Benjen Stark is still First Ranger,” Jon Snow told him, toying with his bowl of\nblueberries. The rest might have given up all hope of his uncle’s safe return, but not him.\nHe pushed away the berries, scarcely touched, and rose from the bench.\n\n“Aren’t you going to eat those?” Toad asked.\n\n“They’re yours.” Jon had hardly tasted Hobb’s great feast. “I could not eat another bite.”\nHe took his cloak from its hook near the door and shouldered his way out.\n\nPyp followed him. “Jon, what is it?”\n\n“Sam,” he admitted. “He was not at table tonight.”\n\n“It’s not like him to miss a meal,” Pyp said thoughtfully. “Do you suppose he’s taken ill?”\n\n“He’s frightened. We’re leaving him.” He remembered the day he had left Winterfell, all\nthe bittersweet farewells; Bran lying broken, Robb with snow in his hair, Arya raining\nkisses on him after he’d given her Needle. “Once we say our words, we’ll all have duties\nto attend to. Some of us may be sent away, to Eastwatch or the Shadow Tower. Sam will\nremain in training, with the likes of Rast and Cuger and these new boys who are coming\nup the kingsroad. Gods only know what they’ll be like, but you can bet Ser Alliser will\nsend them against him, first chance he gets.”\n\nPyp made a grimace. “You did all you could.”\n\n“All we could wasn’t enough,” Jon said.\n\nA deep restlessness was on him as he went back to Hardin’s Tower for Ghost. The\ndirewolf walked beside him to the stables. Some of the more skittish horses kicked at\ntheir stalls and laid back their ears as they entered. Jon saddled his mare, mounted, and\nrode out from Castle Black, south across the moonlit night. Ghost raced ahead of him,\nflying over the ground, gone in the blink of an eye. Jon let him go. A wolf needed to hunt.\n\nHe had no destination in mind. He wanted only to ride. He followed the creek for a time,\nlistening to the icy trickle of water over rock, then cut across the fields to the kingsroad.\n"
## [410] "It stretched out before him, narrow and stony and pocked with weeds, a road of no\nparticular promise, yet the sight of it filled Jon Snow with a vast longing. Winterfell was\ndown that road, and beyond it Riverrun and King’s Landing and the Eyrie and so many\nother places; Casterly Rock, the Isle of Faces, the red mountains of Dorne, the hundred\nislands of Braavos in the sea, the smoking ruins of old Valyria. All the places that Jon\nwould never see. The world was down that road . . . and he was here.\n\nOnce he swore his vow, the Wall would be his home until he was old as Maester Aemon.\n“I have not sworn yet,” he muttered. He was no outlaw, bound to take the black or pay\nthe penalty for his crimes. He had come here freely, and he might leave freely . . . until\nhe said the words. He need only ride on, and he could leave it all behind. By the time the\nmoon was full again, he would be back in Winterfell with his brothers.\n\nYour half brothers, a voice inside reminded him. And Lady Stark, who will not welcome\nyou. There was no place for him in Winterfell, no place in King’s Landing either. Even\nhis own mother had not had a place for him. The thought of her made him sad. He\nwondered who she had been, what she had looked like, why his father had left her.\nBecause she was a whore or an adulteress, fool. Something dark and dishonorable, or\nelse why was Lord Eddard too ashamed to speak of her?\n\nJon Snow turned away from the kingsroad to look behind him. The fires of Castle Black\nwere hidden behind a hill, but the Wall was there, pale beneath the moon, vast and cold,\nrunning from horizon to horizon.\n\nHe wheeled his horse around and started for home.\n\nGhost returned as he crested a rise and saw the distant glow of lamplight from the Lord\nCommander’s Tower. The direwolf s muzzle was red with blood as he trotted beside the\nhorse. Jon found himself thinking of Samwell Tarly again on the ride back. By the time\nhe reached the stables, he knew what he must do.\n\nMaester Aemon’s apartments were in a stout wooden keep below the rookery. Aged and\nfrail, the maester shared his chambers with two of the younger stewards, who tended to\nhis needs and helped him in his duties. The brothers joked that he had been given the\ntwo ugliest men in the Night’s Watch; being blind, he was spared having to look at them.\nClydas was short, bald, and chinless, with small pink eyes like a mole. Chett had a wen\non his neck the size of a pigeon’s egg, and a face red with boils and pimples. Perhaps that\nwas why he always seemed so angry.\n\nIt was Chett who answered Jon’s knock. “I need to speak to Maester Aemon,” Jon told\nhim.\n"
## [411] "“The maester is abed, as you should be. Come back on the morrow and maybe he’ll see\nyou.” He began to shut the door.\n\nJon jammed it open with his boot. “I need to speak to him now. The morning will be too\nlate.”\n\nChett scowled. “The maester is not accustomed to being woken in the night. Do you\nknow how old he is?”\n\n“Old enough to treat visitors with more courtesy than you,” Jon said. “Give him my\npardons. I would not disturb his rest if it were not important.”\n\n“And if I refuse?”\n\nJon had his boot wedged solidly in the door. “I can stand here all night if I must.”\n\nThe black brother made a disgusted noise and opened the door to admit him. “Wait in\nthe library. There’s wood. Start a fire. I won’t have the maester catching a chill on\naccount of you.”\n\nJon had the logs crackling merrily by the time Chett led in Maester Aemon. The old man\nwas clad in his bed robe, but around his throat was the chain collar of his order. A\nmaester did not remove it even to sleep. “The chair beside the fire would be pleasant,” he\nsaid when he felt the warmth on his face. When he was settled comfortably, Chett\ncovered his legs with a fur and went to stand by the door.\n\n“I am sorry to have woken you, Maester,” Jon Snow said.\n\n“You did not wake me,” Maester Aemon replied. “I find I need less sleep as I grow older,\nand I am grown very old. I often spend half the night with ghosts, remembering times\nfifty years past as if they were yesterday. The mystery of a midnight visitor is a welcome\ndiversion. So tell me, Jon Snow, why have you come calling at this strange hour?”\n\n“To ask that Samwell Tarly be taken from training and accepted as a brother of the\nNight’s Watch.”\n\n“This is no concern of Maester Aemon,” Chett complained.\n\n“Our Lord Commander has given the training of recruits into the hands of Ser Alliser\nThorne,” the maester said gently. “Only he may say when a boy is ready to swear his vow,\nas you surely know. Why then come to me?”\n"
## [412] "“The Lord Commander listens to you,” Jon told him. “And the wounded and the sick of\nthe Night’s Watch are in your charge.”\n\n“And is your friend Samwell wounded or sick?”\n\n“He will be,” Jon promised, “unless you help.”\n\nHe told them all of it, even the part where he’d set Ghost at Rast’s throat. Maester\nAemon listened silently, blind eyes fixed on the fire, but Chett’s face darkened with each\nword. “Without us to keep him safe, Sam will have no chance,” Jon finished. “He’s\nhopeless with a sword. My sister Arya could tear him apart, and she’s not yet ten. If Ser\nAlliser makes him fight, it’s only a matter of time before he’s hurt or killed.”\n\nChett could stand no more. “I’ve seen this fat boy in the common hall,” he said. “He is a\npig, and a hopeless craven as well, if what you say is true.”\n\n“Maybe it is so,” Maester Aemon said. “Tell me, Chett, what would you have us do with\nsuch a boy?”\n\n“Leave him where he is,” Chett said. “The Wall is no place for the weak. Let him train\nuntil he is ready, no matter how many years that takes. Ser Alliser shall make a man of\nhim or kill him, as the gods will.”\n\n“That’s stupid,” Jon said. He took a deep breath to gather his thoughts. “I remember\nonce I asked Maester Luwin why he wore a chain around his throat.”\n\nMaester Aemon touched his own collar lightly, his bony, wrinkled finger stroking the\nheavy metal links. “Go on.”\n\n“He told me that a maester’s collar is made of chain to remind him that he is sworn to\nserve,” Jon said, remembering. “I asked why each link was a different metal. A silver\nchain would look much finer with his grey robes, I said. Maester Luwin laughed. A\nmaester forges his chain with study, he told me. The different metals are each a different\nkind of learning, gold for the study of money and accounts, silver for healing, iron for\nwarcraft. And he said there were other meanings as well. The collar is supposed to\nremind a maester of the realm he serves, isn’t that so? Lords are gold and knights steel,\nbut two links can’t make a chain. You also need silver and iron and lead, tin and copper\nand bronze and all the rest, and those are farmers and smiths and merchants and the\nlike. A chain needs all sorts of metals, and a land needs all sorts of people.”\n\nMaester Aemon smiled. “And so?”\n"
## [413] "“The Night’s Watch needs all sorts too. Why else have rangers and stewards and\nbuilders? Lord Randyll couldn’t make Sam a warrior, and Ser Alliser won’t either. You\ncan’t hammer tin into iron, no matter how hard you beat it, but that doesn’t mean tin is\nuseless. Why shouldn’t Sam be a steward?”\n\nChett gave an angry scowl. “I’m a steward. You think it’s easy work, fit for cowards? The\norder of stewards keeps the Watch alive. We hunt and farm, tend the horses, milk the\ncows, gather firewood, cook the meals. Who do you think makes your clothing? Who\nbrings up supplies from the south? The stewards.”\n\nMaester Aemon was gentler. “Is your friend a hunter?”\n\n“He hates hunting,” Jon had to admit.\n\n“Can he plow a field?” the maester asked. “Can he drive a wagon or sail a ship? Could he\nbutcher a cow?”\n\n“No.”\n\nChett gave a nasty laugh. “I’ve seen what happens to soft lordlings when they’re put to\nwork. Set them to churning butter and their hands blister and bleed. Give them an axe to\nsplit logs, and they cut off their own foot.”\n\n“I know one thing Sam could do better than anyone.”\n\n“Yes?” Maester Aemon prompted.\n\nJon glanced warily at Chett, standing beside the door, his boils red and angry. “He could\nhelp you,” he said quickly. “He can do sums, and he knows how to read and write. I\nknow Chett can’t read, and Clydas has weak eyes. Sam read every book in his father’s\nlibrary. He’d be good with the ravens too. Animals seem to like him. Ghost took to him\nstraight off. There’s a lot he could do, besides fighting. The Night’s Watch needs every\nman. Why kill one, to no end? Make use of him instead.”\n\nMaester Aemon closed his eyes, and for a brief moment Jon was afraid that he had gone\nto sleep. Finally he said, “Maester Luwin taught you well, Jon Snow. Your mind is as deft\nas your blade, it would seem.”\n\n“Does that mean . . . ”\n\n“It means I shall think on what you have said,” the maester told him firmly. “And now, I\n"
## [414] "believe I am ready to sleep. Chett, show our young brother to the door.”\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [415] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n TYRION\nThey had taken shelter beneath a copse of aspens just off the high road. Tyrion was\ngathering deadwood while their horses took water from a mountain stream. He stooped\nto pick up a splintered branch and examined it critically. “Will this do? I am not\npracticed at starting fires. Morrec did that for me.”\n\n“A fire?” Bronn said, spitting. “Are you so hungry to die, dwarf? Or have you taken leave\nof your senses? A fire will bring the clansmen down on us from miles around. I mean to\nsurvive this journey, Lannister.”\n\n“And how do you hope to do that?” Tyrion asked. He tucked the branch under his arm\nand poked around through the sparse undergrowth, looking for more. His back ached\nfrom the effort of bending; they had been riding since daybreak, when a stone-faced Ser\nLyn Corbray had ushered them through the Bloody Gate and commanded them never to\nreturn.\n\n“We have no chance of fighting our way back,” Bronn said, “but two can cover more\nground than ten, and attract less notice. The fewer days we spend in these mountains,\nthe more like we are to reach the riverlands. Ride hard and fast, I say. Travel by night\nand hole up by day, avoid the road where we can, make no noise and light no fires.”\n\nTyrion Lannister sighed. “A splendid plan, Bronn. Try it, as you like . . . and forgive me if\nI do not linger to bury you.”\n\n“You think to outlive me, dwarf?” The sellsword grinned. He had a dark gap in his smile\nwhere the edge of Ser Vardis Egen’s shield had cracked a tooth in half.\n\nTyrion shrugged. “Riding hard and fast by night is a sure way to tumble down a\nmountain and crack your skull. I prefer to make my crossing slow and easy. I know you\nlove the taste of horse, Bronn, but if our mounts die under us this time, we’ll be trying to\nsaddle shadowcats . . . and if truth be told, I think the clans will find us no matter what\nwe do. Their eyes are all around us.” He swept a gloved hand over the high, wind-carved\ncrags that surrounded them.\n\nBronn grimaced. “Then we’re dead men, Lannister.”\n"
## [416] "“If so, I prefer to die comfortable,” Tyrion replied. “We need a fire. The nights are cold\nup here, and hot food will warm our bellies and lift our spirits. Do you suppose there’s\nany game to be had? Lady Lysa has kindly provided us with a veritable feast of salt beef,\nhard cheese, and stale bread, but I would hate to break a tooth so far from the nearest\nmaester.”\n\n“I can find meat.” Beneath a fall of black hair, Bronn’s dark eyes regarded Tyrion\nsuspiciously. “I should leave you here with your fool’s fire. If I took your horse, I’d have\ntwice the chance to make it through. What would you do then, dwarf?”\n\n“Die, most like.” Tyrion stooped to get another stick.\n\n“You don’t think I’d do it?”\n\n“You’d do it in an instant, if it meant your life. You were quick enough to silence your\nfriend Chiggen when he caught that arrow in his belly.” Bronn had yanked back the\nman’s head by the hair and driven the point of his dirk in under the ear, and afterward\ntold Catelyn Stark that the other sellsword had died of his wound.\n\n“He was good as dead,” Bronn said, “and his moaning was bringing them down on us.\nChiggen would have done the same for me . . . and he was no friend, only a man I rode\nwith. Make no mistake, dwarf. I fought for you, but I do not love you.”\n\n“It was your blade I needed,” Tyrion said, “not your love.” He dumped his armful of\nwood on the ground.\n\nBronn grinned. “You’re bold as any sellsword, I’ll give you that. How did you know I’d\ntake your part?”\n\n“Know?” Tyrion squatted awkwardly on his stunted legs to build the fire. “I tossed the\ndice. Back at the inn, you and Chiggen helped take me captive. Why? The others saw it as\ntheir duty, for the honor of the lords they served, but not you two. You had no lord, no\nduty, and precious little honor, so why trouble to involve yourselves?” He took out his\nknife and whittled some thin strips of bark off one of the sticks he’d gathered, to serve as\nkindling. “Well, why do sellswords do anything? For gold. You were thinking Lady\nCatelyn would reward you for your help, perhaps even take you into her service. Here,\nthat should do, I hope. Do you have a flint?”\n\nBronn slid two fingers into the pouch at his belt and tossed down a flint. Tyrion caught it\nin the air.\n\n“My thanks,” he said. “The thing is, you did not know the Starks. Lord Eddard is a\n"
## [417] "proud, honorable, and honest man, and his lady wife is worse. Oh, no doubt she would\nhave found a coin or two for you when this was all over, and pressed it in your hand with\na polite word and a look of distaste, but that’s the most you could have hoped for. The\nStarks look for courage and loyalty and honor in the men they choose to serve them, and\nif truth be told, you and Chiggen were lowborn scum.” Tyrion struck the flint against his\ndagger, trying for a spark. Nothing.\n\nBronn snorted. “You have a bold tongue, little man. One day someone is like to cut it out\nand make you eat it.”\n\n“Everyone tells me that.” Tyrion glanced up at the sellsword. “Did I offend you? My\npardons . . . but you are scum, Bronn, make no mistake. Duty, honor, friendship, what’s\nthat to you? No, don’t trouble yourself, we both know the answer. Still, you’re not stupid.\nOnce we reached the Vale, Lady Stark had no more need of you . . . but I did, and the one\nthing the Lannisters have never lacked for is gold. When the moment came to toss the\ndice, I was counting on your being smart enough to know where your best interest lay.\nHappily for me, you did.” He slammed stone and steel together again, fruitlessly.\n\n“Here,” said Bronn, squatting, “I’ll do it.” He took the knife and flint from Tyrion’s hands\nand struck sparks on his first try. A curl of bark began to smolder.\n\n“Well done,” Tyrion said. “Scum you may be, but you’re undeniably useful, and with a\nsword in your hand you’re almost as good as my brother Jaime. What do you want,\nBronn? Gold? Land? Women? Keep me alive, and you’ll have it.”\n\nBronn blew gently on the fire, and the flames leapt up higher. “And if you die?”\n\n“Why then, I’ll have one mourner whose grief is sincere,” Tyrion said, grinning. “The\ngold ends when I do.”\n\nThe fire was blazing up nicely. Bronn stood, tucked the flint back into his pouch, and\ntossed Tyrion his dagger. “Fair enough,” he said. “My sword’s yours, then . . . but don’t\ngo looking for me to bend the knee and m’lord you every time you take a shit. I’m no\nman’s toady.”\n\n“Nor any man’s friend,” Tyrion said. “I’ve no doubt you’d betray me as quick as you did\nLady Stark, if you saw a profit in it. If the day ever comes when you’re tempted to sell me\nout, remember this, Bronn—I’ll match their price, whatever it is. I like living. And now,\ndo you think you could do something about finding us some supper?”\n\n“Take care of the horses,” Bronn said, unsheathing the long dirk he wore at his hip. He\nstrode into the trees.\n"
## [418] "An hour later the horses had been rubbed down and fed, the fire was crackling away\nmerrily, and a haunch of a young goat was turning above the flames, spitting and\nhissing. “All we lack now is some good wine to wash down our kid,” Tyrion said.\n\n“That, a woman, and another dozen swords,” Bronn said. He sat cross-legged beside the\nfire, honing the edge of his longsword with an oilstone. There was something strangely\nreassuring about the rasping sound it made when he drew it down the steel. “It will be\nfull dark soon,” the sellsword pointed out. “I’ll take first watch . . . for all the good it will\ndo us. It might be kinder to let them kill us in our sleep.”\n\n“Oh, I imagine they’ll be here long before it comes to sleep.” The smell of the roasting\nmeat made Tyrion’s mouth water.\n\nBronn watched him across the fire. “You have a plan,” he said flatly, with a scrape of\nsteel on stone.\n\n“A hope, call it,” Tyrion said. “Another toss of the dice.”\n\n“With our lives as the stake?”\n\nTyrion shrugged. “What choice do we have?” He leaned over the fire and sawed a thin\nslice of meat from the kid. “Ahhhh,” he sighed happily as he chewed. Grease ran down\nhis chin. “A bit tougher than I’d like, and in want of spicing, but I’ll not complain too\nloudly. If I were back at the Eyrie, I’d be dancing on a precipice in hopes of a boiled\nbean.”\n\n“And yet you gave the turnkey a purse of gold,” Bronn said.\n\n“A Lannister always pays his debts.”\n\nEven Mord had scarcely believed it when Tyrion tossed him the leather purse. The\ngaoler’s eyes had gone big as boiled eggs as he yanked open the drawstring and beheld\nthe glint of gold. “I kept the silver,” Tyrion had told him with a crooked smile, “but you\nwere promised the gold, and there it is.” It was more than a man like Mord could hope to\nearn in a lifetime of abusing prisoners. “And remember what I said, this is only a taste. If\nyou ever grow tired of Lady Arryn’s service, present yourself at Casterly Rock, and I’ll\npay you the rest of what I owe you.” With golden dragons spilling out of both hands,\nMord had fallen to his knees and promised that he would do just that.\n\nBronn yanked out his dirk and pulled the meat from the fire. He began to carve thick\nchunks of charred meat off the bone as Tyrion hollowed out two heels of stale bread to\n"
## [419] "serve as trenchers. “If we do reach the river, what will you do then?” the sellsword asked\nas he cut.\n\n“Oh, a whore and a featherbed and a flagon of wine, for a start.” Tyrion held out his\ntrencher, and Bronn filled it with meat. “And then to Casterly Rock or King’s Landing, I\nthink. I have some questions that want answering, concerning a certain dagger.”\n\nThe sellsword chewed and swallowed. “So you were telling it true? It was not your knife?”\n\nTyrion smiled thinly. “Do I look a liar to you?”\n\nBy the time their bellies were full, the stars had come out and a halfmoon was rising over\nthe mountains. Tyrion spread his shadowskin cloak on the ground and stretched out\nwith his saddle for a pillow. “Our friends are taking their sweet time.”\n\n“If I were them, I’d fear a trap,” Bronn said. “Why else would we be so open, if not to lure\nthem in?”\n\nTyrion chuckled. “Then we ought to sing and send them fleeing in terror.” He began to\nwhistle a tune.\n\n“You’re mad, dwarf,” Bronn said as he cleaned the grease out from under his nails with\nhis dirk.\n\n“Where’s your love of music, Bronn?”\n\n“If it was music you wanted, you should have gotten the singer to champion you.”\n\nTyrion grinned. “That would have been amusing. I can just see him fending off Ser\nVardis with his woodharp.” He resumed his whistling. “Do you know this song?” he\nasked.\n\n“You hear it here and there, in inns and whorehouses.”\n\n“Myrish. ‘The Seasons of My Love.’ Sweet and sad, if you understand the words. The first\ngirl I ever bedded used to sing it, and I’ve never been able to put it out of my head.”\nTyrion gazed up at the sky. It was a clear cold night and the stars shone down upon the\nmountains as bright and merciless as truth. “I met her on a night like this,” he heard\nhimself saying. “Jaime and I were riding back from Lannisport when we heard a scream,\nand she came running out into the road with two men dogging her heels, shouting\nthreats. My brother unsheathed his sword and went after them, while I dismounted to\nprotect the girl. She was scarcely a year older than I was, dark-haired, slender, with a\n"
## [420] "face that would break your heart. It certainly broke mine. Lowborn, half-starved,\nunwashed . . . yet lovely. They’d torn the rags she was wearing half off her back, so I\nwrapped her in my cloak while Jaime chased the men into the woods. By the time he\ncame trotting back, I’d gotten a name out of her, and a story. She was a crofter’s child,\norphaned when her father died of fever, on her way to . . . well, nowhere, really.\n\n“Jaime was all in a lather to hunt down the men. It was not often outlaws dared prey on\ntravelers so near to Casterly Rock, and he took it as an insult. The girl was too frightened\nto send off by herself, though, so I offered to take her to the closest inn and feed her\nwhile my brother rode back to the Rock for help.\n\n“She was hungrier than I would have believed. We finished two whole chickens and part\nof a third, and drank a flagon of wine, talking. I was only thirteen, and the wine went to\nmy head, I fear. The next thing I knew, I was sharing her bed. If she was shy, I was shyer.\nI’ll never know where I found the courage. When I broke her maidenhead, she wept, but\nafterward she kissed me and sang her little song, and by morning I was in love.”\n\n“You?” Bronn’s voice was amused.\n\n“Absurd, isn’t it?” Tyrion began to whistle the song again. “I married her,” he finally\nadmitted.\n\n“A Lannister of Casterly Rock wed to a crofter’s daughter,” Bronn said. “How did you\nmanage that?”\n\n“Oh, you’d be astonished at what a boy can make of a few lies, fifty pieces of silver, and a\ndrunken septon. I dared not bring my bride home to Casterly Rock, so I set her up in a\ncottage of her own, and for a fortnight we played at being man and wife. And then the\nsepton sobered and confessed all to my lord father.” Tyrion was surprised at how\ndesolate it made him feel to say it, even after all these years. Perhaps he was just tired.\n“That was the end of my marriage.” He sat up and stared at the dying fire, blinking at the\nlight.\n\n“He sent the girl away?”\n\n“He did better than that,” Tyrion said. “First he made my brother tell me the truth. The\ngirl was a whore, you see. Jaime arranged the whole affair, the road, the outlaws, all of it.\nHe thought it was time I had a woman. He paid double for a maiden, knowing it would\nbe my first time.\n\n“After Jaime had made his confession, to drive home the lesson, Lord Tywin brought my\nwife in and gave her to his guards. They paid her fair enough. A silver for each man, how\n"
## [421] "many whores command that high a price? He sat me down in the corner of the barracks\nand bade me watch, and at the end she had so many silvers the coins were slipping\nthrough her fingers and rolling on the floor, she . . . ” The smoke was stinging his eyes.\nTyrion cleared his throat and turned away from the fire, to gaze out into darkness. “Lord\nTywin had me go last,” he said in a quiet voice. “And he gave me a gold coin to pay her,\nbecause I was a Lannister, and worth more.”\n\nAfter a time he heard the noise again, the rasp of steel on stone as Bronn sharpened his\nsword. “Thirteen or thirty or three, I would have killed the man who did that to me.”\n\nTyrion swung around to face him. “You may get that chance one day. Remember what I\ntold you. A Lannister always pays his debts.” He yawned. “I think I will try and sleep.\nWake me if we’re about to die.”\n\nHe rolled himself up in the shadowskin and shut his eyes. The ground was stony and\ncold, but after a time Tyrion Lannister did sleep. He dreamt of the sky cell. This time he\nwas the gaoler, not the prisoner, big, with a strap in his hand, and he was hitting his\nfather, driving him back, toward the abyss . . .\n\n“Tyrion.” Bronn’s warning was low and urgent.\n\nTyrion was awake in the blink of an eye. The fire had burned down to embers, and the\nshadows were creeping in all around them. Bronn had raised himself to one knee, his\nsword in one hand and his dirk in the other. Tyrion held up a hand: stay still, it said.\n“Come share our fire, the night is cold,” he called out to the creeping shadows. “I fear\nwe’ve no wine to offer you, but you’re welcome to some of our goat.”\n\nAll movement stopped. Tyrion saw the glint of moonlight on metal. “Our mountain,” a\nvoice called out from the trees, deep and hard and unfriendly. “Our goat.”\n\n“Your goat,” Tyrion agreed. “Who are you?”\n\n“When you meet your gods,” a different voice replied, “say it was Gunthor son of Gurn of\nthe Stone Crows who sent you to them.” A branch cracked underfoot as he stepped into\nthe light; a thin man in a horned helmet, armed with a long knife.\n\n“And Shagga son of Dolf.” That was the first voice, deep and deadly. A boulder shifted to\ntheir left, and stood, and became a man. Massive and slow and strong he seemed,\ndressed all in skins, with a club in his right hand and an axe in his left. He smashed them\ntogether as he lumbered closer.\n\nOther voices called other names, Conn and Torrek and Jaggot and more that Tyrion\n"
## [422] "forgot the instant he heard them; ten at least. A few had swords and knives; others\nbrandished pitchforks and scythes and wooden spears. He waited until they were done\nshouting out their names before he gave them answer. “I am Tyrion son of Tywin, of the\nClan Lannister, the Lions of the Rock. We will gladly pay you for the goat we ate.”\n\n“What do you have to give us, Tyrion son of Tywin?” asked the one who named himself\nGunthor, who seemed to be their chief.\n\n“There is silver in my purse,” Tyrion told them. “This hauberk I wear is large for me, but\nit should fit Conn nicely, and the battle-axe I carry would suit Shagga’s mighty hand far\nbetter than that wood-axe he holds.”\n\n“The halfman would pay us with our own coin,” said Conn.\n\n“Conn speaks truly,” Gunthor said. “Your silver is ours. Your horses are ours. Your\nhauberk and your battle-axe and the knife at your belt, those are ours too. You have\nnothing to give us but your lives. How would you like to die, Tyrion son of Tywin?”\n\n“In my own bed, with a belly full of wine and a maiden’s mouth around my cock, at the\nage of eighty,” he replied.\n\nThe huge one, Shagga, laughed first and loudest. The others seemed less amused. “Conn,\ntake their horses,” Gunthor commanded. “Kill the other and seize the halfinan. He can\nmilk the goats and make the mothers laugh.”\n\nBronn sprang to his feet. “Who dies first?”\n\n“No!” Tyrion said sharply. “Gunthor son of Gurn, hear me. My House is rich and\npowerful. If the Stone Crows will see us safely through these mountains, my lord father\nwill shower you with gold.”\n\n“The gold of a lowland lord is as worthless as a halfman’s promises,” Gunthor said.\n\n“Half a man I may be,” Tyrion said, “yet I have the courage to face my enemies. What do\nthe Stone Crows do, but hide behind rocks and shiver with fear as the knights of the Vale\nride by?”\n\nShagga gave a roar of anger and clashed club against axe. Jaggot poked at Tyrion’s face\nwith the fire-hardened point of a long wooden spear. He did his best not to flinch. “Are\nthese the best weapons you could steal?” he said. “Good enough for killing sheep,\nperhaps . . . if the sheep do not fight back. My father’s smiths shit better steel.”\n"
## [423] "“Little boyman,” Shagga roared, “will you mock my axe after I chop off your manhood\nand feed it to the goats?”\n\nBut Gunthor raised a hand. “No. I would hear his words. The mothers go hungry, and\nsteel fills more mouths than gold. What would you give us for your lives, Tyrion son of\nTywin? Swords? Lances? Mail?”\n\n“All that, and more, Gunthor son of Gurn,” Tyrion Lannister replied, smiling. “I will give\nyou the Vale of Arryn.”\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [424] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n EDDARD\nThrough the high narrow windows of the Red Keep’s cavernous throne room, the light of\nsunset spilled across the floor, laying dark red stripes upon the walls where the heads of\ndragons had once hung. Now the stone was covered with hunting tapestries, vivid with\ngreens and browns and blues, and yet still it seemed to Ned Stark that the only color in\nthe hall was the red of blood.\n\nHe sat high upon the immense ancient seat of Aegon the Conqueror, an ironwork\nmonstrosity of spikes and jagged edges and grotesquely twisted metal. It was, as Robert\nhad warned him, a hellishly uncomfortable chair, and never more so than now, with his\nshattered leg throbbing more sharply every minute. The metal beneath him had grown\nharder by the hour, and the fanged steel behind made it impossible to lean back. A king\nshould never sit easy, Aegon the Conqueror had said, when he commanded his armorers\nto forge a great seat from the swords laid down by his enemies. Damn Aegon for his\narrogance, Ned thought sullenly, and damn Robert and his hunting as well.\n\n“You are quite certain these were more than brigands?” Varys asked softly from the\ncouncil table beneath the throne. Grand Maester Pycelle stirred uneasily beside him,\nwhile Littlefinger toyed with a pen. They were the only councillors in attendance. A\nwhite hart had been sighted in the kingswood, and Lord Renly and Ser Barristan had\njoined the king to hunt it, along with Prince Joffrey, Sandor Clegane, Balon Swann, and\nhalf the court. So Ned must needs sit the Iron Throne in his absence.\n\nAt least he could sit. Save the council, the rest must stand respectfully, or kneel. The\npetitioners clustered near the tall doors, the knights and high lords and ladies beneath\nthe tapestries, the smallfolk in the gallery, the mailed guards in their cloaks, gold or\ngrey: all stood.\n\nThe villagers were kneeling: men, women, and children, alike tattered and bloody, their\nfaces drawn by fear. The three knights who had brought them here to bear witness stood\nbehind them.\n\n“Brigands, Lord Varys?” Ser Raymun Darry’s voice dripped scorn. “Oh, they were\nbrigands, beyond a doubt. Lannister brigands.”\n\nNed could feel the unease in the hall, as high lords and servants alike strained to listen.\n"
## [425] "He could not pretend to surprise. The west had been a tinderbox since Catelyn had\nseized Tyrion Lannister. Both Riverrun and Casterly Rock had called their banners, and\narmies were massing in the pass below the Golden Tooth. It had only been a matter of\ntime until the blood began to flow. The sole question that remained was how best to\nstanch the wound.\n\nSad-eyed Ser Karyl Vance, who would have been handsome but for the winestain\nbirthmark that discolored his face, gestured at the kneeling villagers. “This is all the\nremains of the holdfast of Sherrer, Lord Eddard. The rest are dead, along with the\npeople of Wendish Town and the Mummer’s Ford.”\n\n“Rise,” Ned commanded the villagers. He never trusted what a man told him from his\nknees. “All of you, up.”\n\nIn ones and twos, the holdfast of Sherrer struggled to its feet. One ancient needed to be\nhelped, and a young girl in a bloody dress stayed on her knees, staring blankly at Ser\nArys Oakheart, who stood by the foot of the throne in the white armor of the Kingsguard,\nready to protect and defend the king . . . or, Ned supposed, the King’s Hand.\n\n“Joss,” Ser Raymun Darry said to a plump balding man in a brewer’s apron. “Tell the\nHand what happened at Sherrer.”\n\nJoss nodded. “If it please His Grace—”\n\n“His Grace is hunting across the Blackwater,” Ned said, wondering how a man could live\nhis whole life a few days ride from the Red Keep and still have no notion what his king\nlooked like. Ned was clad in a white linen doublet with the direwolf of Stark on the\nbreast; his black wool cloak was fastened at the collar by his silver hand of office. Black\nand white and grey, all the shades of truth. “I am Lord Eddard Stark, the King’s Hand.\nTell me who you are and what you know of these raiders.”\n\n“I keep . . . I kept . . . I kept an alehouse, m’lord, in Sherrer, by the stone bridge. The\nfinest ale south of the Neck, everyone said so, begging your pardons, m’lord. It’s gone\nnow like all the rest, m’lord. They come and drank their fill and spilled the rest before\nthey fired my roof, and they would of spilled my blood too, if they’d caught me. M’lord.”\n\n“They burnt us out,” a farmer beside him said. “Come riding in the dark, up from the\nsouth, and fired the fields and the houses alike, killing them as tried to stop them. They\nweren’t no raiders, though, m’lord. They had no mind to steal our stock, not these, they\nbutchered my milk cow where she stood and left her for the flies and the crows.”\n\n“They rode down my ’prentice boy,” said a squat man with a smith’s muscles and a\n"
## [426] "bandage around his head. He had put on his finest clothes to come to court, but his\nbreeches were patched, his cloak travel-stained and dusty. “Chased him back and forth\nacross the fields on their horses, poking at him with their lances like it was a game, them\nlaughing and the boy stumbling and screaming till the big one pierced him clean\nthrough.”\n\nThe girl on her knees craned her head up at Ned, high above her on the throne. “They\nkilled my mother too, Your Grace. And they . . . they . . . ” Her voice trailed off, as if she\nhad forgotten what she was about to say. She began to sob.\n\nSer Raymun Darry took up the tale. “At Wendish Town, the people sought shelter in\ntheir holdfast, but the walls were timbered. The raiders piled straw against the wood and\nburnt them all alive. When the Wendish folk opened their gates to flee the fire, they shot\nthem down with arrows as they came running out, even women with suckling babes.”\n\n“Oh, dreadful,” murmured Varys. “How cruel can men be?”\n\n“They would of done the same for us, but the Sherrer holdfast’s made of stone,” Joss\nsaid. “Some wanted to smoke us out, but the big one said there was riper fruit upriver,\nand they made for the Mummer’s Ford.”\n\nNed could feel cold steel against his fingers as he leaned forward. Between each finger\nwas a blade, the points of twisted swords fanning out like talons from arms of the\nthrone. Even after three centuries, some were still sharp enough to cut. The Iron Throne\nwas full of traps for the unwary. The songs said it had taken a thousand blades to make\nit, heated white-hot in the furnace breath of Balerion the Black Dread. The hammering\nhad taken fifty-nine days. The end of it was this hunched black beast made of razor\nedges and barbs and ribbons of sharp metal; a chair that could kill a man, and had, if the\nstories could be believed.\n\nWhat Eddard Stark was doing sitting there he would never comprehend, yet there he sat,\nand these people looked to him for justice. “What proof do you have that these were\nLannisters?” he asked, trying to keep his fury under control. “Did they wear crimson\ncloaks or fly a lion banner?”\n\n“Even Lannisters are not so blind stupid as that,” Ser Marq Piper snapped. He was a\nswaggering bantam rooster of a youth, too young and too hot-blooded for Ned’s taste,\nthough a fast friend of Catelyn’s brother, Edmure Tully.\n\n“Every man among them was mounted and mailed, my lord,” Ser Karyl answered calmly.\n“They were armed with steel-tipped lances and longswords, with battle-axes for the\nbutchering.” He gestured toward one of the ragged survivors. “You. Yes, you, no one’s\n"
## [427] "going to hurt you. Tell the Hand what you told me.”\n\nThe old man bobbed his head. “Concerning their horses,” he said, “it were warhorses\nthey rode. Many a year I worked in old Ser Willum’s stables, so I knows the difference.\nNot a one of these ever pulled a plow, gods bear witness if I’m wrong.”\n\n“Well-mounted brigands,” observed Littlefinger. “Perhaps they stole the horses from the\nlast place they raided.”\n\n“How many men were there in this raiding party?” Ned asked.\n\n“A hundred, at the least,” Joss answered, in the same instant as the bandaged smith said,\n“Fifty,” and the grandmother behind him, “Hunnerds and hunnerds, m’lord, an army\nthey was.”\n\n“You are more right than you know, goodwoman,” Lord Eddard told her. “You say they\nflew no banners. What of the armor they wore? Did any of you note ornaments or\ndecorations, devices on shield or helm?”\n\nThe brewer, Joss, shook his head. “It grieves me, m’lord, but no, the armor they showed\nus was plain, only . . . the one who led them, he was armored like the rest, but there was\nno mistaking him all the same. It was the size of him, m’lord. Those as say the giants are\nall dead never saw this one, I swear. Big as an ox he was, and a voice like stone breaking.”\n\n“The Mountain!” Ser Marq said loudly. “Can any man doubt it? This was Gregor\nClegane’s work.”\n\nNed heard muttering from beneath the windows and the far end of the hall. Even in the\ngalley, nervous whispers were exchanged. High lords and smallfolk alike knew what it\ncould mean if Ser Marq was proved right. Ser Gregor Clegane stood bannerman to Lord\nTywin Lannister.\n\nHe studied the frightened faces of the villagers. Small wonder they had been so fearful;\nthey had thought they were being dragged here to name Lord Tywin a red-handed\nbutcher before a king who was his son by marriage. He wondered if the knights had\ngiven them a choice.\n\nGrand Maester Pycelle rose ponderously from the council table, his chain of office\nclinking. “Ser Marq, with respect, you cannot know that this outlaw was Ser Gregor.\nThere are many large men in the realm.”\n\n“As large as the Mountain That Rides?” Ser Karyl said. “I have never met one.”\n"
## [428] "“Nor has any man here,” Ser Raymun added hotly. “Even his brother is a pup beside\nhim. My lords, open your eyes. Do you need to see his seal on the corpses? It was\nGregor.”\n\n“Why should Ser Gregor turn brigand?” Pycelle asked. “By the grace of his liege lord, he\nholds a stout keep and lands of his own. The man is an anointed knight.”\n\n“A false knight!” Ser Marq said. “Lord Tywin’s mad dog.”\n\n“My lord Hand,” Pycelle declared in a stiff voice, “I urge you to remind this good knight\nthat Lord Tywin Lannister is the father of our own gracious queen.”\n\n“Thank you, Grand Maester Pycelle,” Ned said. “I fear we might have forgotten that if\nyou had not pointed it out.”\n\nFrom his vantage point atop the throne, he could see men slipping out the door at the far\nend of the hall. Hares going to ground, he supposed . . . or rats off to nibble the queen’s\ncheese. He caught a glimpse of Septa Mordane in the gallery, with his daughter Sansa\nbeside her. Ned felt a flash of anger; this was no place for a girl. But the septa could not\nhave known that today’s court would be anything but the usual tedious business of\nhearing petitions, settling disputes between rival holdfasts, and adjudicating the\nplacement of boundary stones.\n\nAt the council table below, Petyr Baelish lost interest in his quill and leaned forward.\n“Ser Marq, Ser Karyl, Ser Raymun—perhaps I might ask you a question? These holdfasts\nwere under your protection. Where were you when all this slaughtering and burning was\ngoing on?”\n\nSer Karyl Vance answered. “I was attending my lord father in the pass below the Golden\nTooth, as was Ser Marq. When the word of these outrages reached Ser Edmure Tully, he\nsent word that we should take a small force of men to find what survivors we could and\nbring them to the king.”\n\nSer Raymun Darry spoke up. “Ser Edmure had summoned me to Riverrun with all my\nstrength. I was camped across the river from his walls, awaiting his commands, when\nthe word reached me. By the time I could return to my own lands, Clegane and his\nvermin were back across the Red Fork, riding for Lannister’s hills.”\n\nLittlefinger stroked the point of his beard thoughtfully. “And if they come again, ser?”\n\n“If they come again, we’ll use their blood to water the fields they burnt,” Ser Marq Piper\n"
## [429] "declared hotly.\n\n“Ser Edmure has sent men to every village and holdfast within a day’s ride of the\nborder,” Ser Karyl explained. “The next raider will not have such an easy time of it.”\n\nAnd that may be precisely what Lord Tywin wants, Ned thought to himself, to bleed off\nstrength from Riverrun, goad the boy into scattering his swords. His wife’s brother was\nyoung, and more gallant than wise. He would try to hold every inch of his soil, to defend\nevery man, woman, and child who named him lord, and Tywin Lannister was shrewd\nenough to know that.\n\n“If your fields and holdfasts are safe from harm,” Lord Petyr was saying, “what then do\nyou ask of the throne?”\n\n“The lords of the Trident keep the king’s peace,” Ser Raymun Darry said. “The\nLannisters have broken it. We ask leave to answer them, steel for steel. We ask justice for\nthe smallfolk of Sherrer and Wendish Town and the Mummer’s Ford.”\n\n“Edmure agrees, we must pay Gregor Clegane back his bloody coin,” Ser Marq declared,\n“but old Lord Hoster commanded us to come here and beg the king’s leave before we\nstrike.”\n\nThank the gods for old Lord Hoster, then. Tywin Lannister was as much fox as lion. If\nindeed he’d sent Ser Gregor to burn and pillage—and Ned did not doubt that he had—\nhe’d taken care to see that he rode under cover of night, without banners, in the guise of\na common brigand. Should Riverrun strike back, Cersei and her father would insist that\nit had been the Tullys who broke the king’s peace, not the Lannisters. The gods only\nknew what Robert would believe.\n\nGrand Maester Pycelle was on his feet again. “My lord Hand, if these good folk believe\nthat Ser Gregor has forsaken his holy vows for plunder and rape, let them go to his liege\nlord and make their complaint. These crimes are no concern of the throne. Let them seek\nLord Tywin’s justice.”\n\n“It is all the king’s justice,” Ned told him. “North, south, east, or west, all we do we do in\nRobert’s name.”\n\n“The king’s justice,” Grand Maester Pycelle said. “So it is, and so we should defer this\nmatter until the king—”\n\n“The king is hunting across the river and may not return for days,” Lord Eddard said.\n“Robert bid me to sit here in his place, to listen with his ears, and to speak with his voice.\n"
## [430] "I mean to do just that . . . though I agree that he must be told.” He saw a familiar face\nbeneath the tapestries. “Ser Robar.”\n\nSer Robar Royce stepped forward and bowed. “My lord.”\n\n“Your father is hunting with the king,” Ned said. “Will you bring them word of what was\nsaid and done here today?”\n\n“At once, my lord.”\n\n“Do we have your leave to take our vengeance against Ser Gregor, then?” Marq Piper\nasked the throne.\n\n“Vengeance?” Ned said. “I thought we were speaking of justice. Burning Clegane’s fields\nand slaughtering his people will not restore the king’s peace, only your injured pride.”\nHe glanced away before the young knight could voice his outraged protest, and\naddressed the villagers. “People of Sherrer, I cannot give you back your homes or your\ncrops, nor can I restore your dead to life. But perhaps I can give you some small measure\nof justice, in the name of our king, Robert.”\n\nEvery eye in the hall was fixed on him, waiting. Slowly Ned struggled to his feet, pushing\nhimself up from the throne with the strength of his arms, his shattered leg screaming\ninside its cast. He did his best to ignore the pain; it was no moment to let them see his\nweakness. “The First Men believed that the judge who called for death should wield the\nsword, and in the north we hold to that still. I mislike sending another to do my\nkilling . . . yet it seems I have no choice.” He gestured at his broken leg.\n\n“Lord Eddard!” The shout came from the west side of the hall as a handsome stripling of\na boy strode forth boldly. Out of his armor, Ser Loras Tyrell looked even younger than\nhis sixteen years. He wore pale blue silk, his belt a linked chain of golden roses, the sigil\nof his House. “I beg you the honor of acting in your place. Give this task to me, my lord,\nand I swear I shall not fail you.”\n\nLittlefinger chuckled. “Ser Loras, if we send you off alone, Ser Gregor will send us back\nyour head with a plum stuffed in that pretty mouth of yours. The Mountain is not the\nsort to bend his neck to any man’s justice.”\n\n“I do not fear Gregor Clegane,” Ser Loras said haughtily.\n\nNed eased himself slowly back onto the hard iron seat of Aegon’s misshapen throne. His\neyes searched the faces along the wall. “Lord Beric,” he called out. “Thoros of Myr. Ser\nGladden. Lord Lothar.” The men named stepped forward one by one. “Each of you is to\n"
## [431] "assemble twenty men, to bring my word to Gregor’s keep. Twenty of my own guards\nshall go with you. Lord Beric Dondarrion, you shall have the command, as befits your\nrank.”\n\nThe young lord with the red-gold hair bowed. “As you command, Lord Eddard.”\n\nNed raised his voice, so it carried to the far end of the throne room. “In the name of\nRobert of the House Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals and the\nRhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, by\nthe word of Eddard of the House Stark, his Hand, I charge you to ride to the westlands\nwith all haste, to cross the Red Fork of the Trident under the king’s flag, and there bring\nthe king’s justice to the false knight Gregor Clegane, and to all those who shared in his\ncrimes. I denounce him, and attaint him, and strip him of all rank and titles, of all lands\nand incomes and holdings, and do sentence him to death. May the gods take pity on his\nsoul.”\n\nWhen the echo of his words had died away, the Knight of Flowers seemed perplexed.\n“Lord Eddard, what of me?”\n\nNed looked down on him. From on high, Loras Tyrell seemed almost as young as Robb.\n“No one doubts your valor, Ser Loras, but we are about justice here, and what you seek is\nvengeance.” He looked back to Lord Beric. “Ride at first light. These things are best done\nquickly.” He held up a hand. “The throne will hear no more petitions today.”\n\nAlyn and Porther climbed the steep iron steps to help him back down. As they made\ntheir descent, he could feel Loras Tyrell’s sullen stare, but the boy had stalked away\nbefore Ned reached the floor of the throne room.\n\nAt the base of the Iron Throne, Varys was gathering papers from the council table.\nLittlefinger and Grand Maester Pycelle had already taken their leave. “You are a bolder\nman than I, my lord,” the eunuch said softly.\n\n“How so, Lord Varys?” Ned asked brusquely. His leg was throbbing, and he was in no\nmood for word games.\n\n“Had it been me up there, I should have sent Ser Loras. He so wanted to go . . . and a\nman who has the Lannisters for his enemies would do well to make the Tyrells his\nfriends.”\n\n“Ser Loras is young,” said Ned. “I daresay he will outgrow the disappointment.”\n\n“And Ser Ilyn?” The eunuch stroked a plump, powdered cheek. “He is the King’s Justice,\n"
## [432] "after all. Sending other men to do his office . . . some might construe that as a grave\ninsult.”\n\n“No slight was intended.” In truth, Ned did not trust the mute knight, though perhaps\nthat was only because he misliked executioners. “I remind you, the Paynes are\nbannermen to House Lannister. I thought it best to choose men who owed Lord Tywin\nno fealty.”\n\n“Very prudent, no doubt,” Varys said. “Still, I chanced to see Ser Ilyn in the back of the\nhall, staring at us with those pale eyes of his, and I must say, he did not look pleased,\nthough to be sure it is hard to tell with our silent knight. I hope he outgrows his\ndisappointment as well. He does so love his work . . . ”\n\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [433] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n SANSA\nHe wouldn’t send Ser Loras,” Sansa told Jeyne Poole that night as they shared a cold\nsupper by lamplight. “I think it was because of his leg.”\n\nLord Eddard had taken his supper in his bedchamber with Alyn, Harwin, and Vayon\nPoole, the better to rest his broken leg, and Septa Mordane had complained of sore feet\nafter standing in the gallery all day. Arya was supposed to join them, but she was late\ncoming back from her dancing lesson.\n\n“His leg?” Jeyne said uncertainly. She was a pretty, dark-haired girl of Sansa’s own age.\n“Did Ser Loras hurt his leg?”\n\n“Not his leg,” Sansa said, nibbling delicately at a chicken leg. “Father’s leg, silly. It hurts\nhim ever so much, it makes him cross. Otherwise I’m certain he would have sent Ser\nLoras.”\n\nHer father’s decision still bewildered her. When the Knight of Flowers had spoken up,\nshe’d been sure she was about to see one of Old Nan’s stories come to life. Ser Gregor\nwas the monster and Ser Loras the true hero who would slay him. He even looked a true\nhero, so slim and beautiful, with golden roses around his slender waist and his rich\nbrown hair tumbling down into his eyes. And then Father had refused him! It had upset\nher more than she could tell. She had said as much to Septa Mordane as they descended\nthe stairs from the gallery, but the septa had only told her it was not her place to\nquestion her lord father’s decisions.\n\nThat was when Lord Baelish had said, “Oh, I don’t know, Septa. Some of her lord father’s\ndecisions could do with a bit of questioning. The young lady is as wise as she is lovely.”\nHe made a sweeping bow to Sansa, so deep she was not quite sure if she was being\ncomplimented or mocked.\n\nSepta Mordane had been very upset to realize that Lord Baelish had overheard them.\n“The girl was just talking, my lord,” she’d said. “Foolish chatter. She meant nothing by\nthe comment.”\n\nLord Baelish stroked his little pointed beard and said, “Nothing? Tell me, child, why\nwould you have sent Ser Loras?”\n"
## [434] "Sansa had no choice but to explain about heroes and monsters. The king’s councillor\nsmiled. “Well, those are not the reasons I’d have given, but . . . ” He had touched her\ncheek, his thumb lightly tracing the line of a cheekbone. “Life is not a song, sweetling.\nYou may learn that one day to your sorrow.”\n\nSansa did not feel like telling all that to Jeyne, however; it made her uneasy just to think\nback on it.\n\n“Ser Ilyn’s the King’s Justice, not Ser Loras,” Jcyne said. “Lord Eddard should have sent\nhim.”\n\nSansa shuddered. Every time she looked at Ser Ilyn Payne, she shivered. He made her\nfeel as though something dead were slithering over her naked skin. “Ser Ilyn’s almost\nlike a second monster. I’m glad Father didn’t pick him.”\n\n“Lord Beric is as much a hero as Ser Loras. He’s ever so brave and gallant.”\n\n“I suppose,” Sansa said doubtfully. Beric Dondarrion was handsome enough, but he was\nawfully old, almost twenty-two; the Knight of Flowers would have been much better. Of\ncourse, Jeyne had been in love with Lord Beric ever since she had first glimpsed him in\nthe lists. Sansa thought she was being silly; Jeyne was only a steward’s daughter, after\nall, and no matter how much she mooned after him, Lord Beric would never look at\nsomeone so far beneath him, even if she hadn’t been half his age.\n\nIt would have been unkind to say so, however, so Sansa took a sip of milk and changed\nthe subject. “I had a dream that Joffrey would be the one to take the white hart,” she\nsaid. It had been more of a wish, actually, but it sounded better to call it a dream.\nEveryone knew that dreams were prophetic. White harts were supposed to be very rare\nand magical, and in her heart she knew her gallant prince was worthier than his drunken\nfather.\n\n“A dream? Truly? Did Prince Joffrey just go up to it and touch it with his bare hand and\ndo it no harm?”\n\n“No,” Sansa said. “He shot it with a golden arrow and brought it back for me.” In the\nsongs, the knights never killed magical beasts, they just went up to them and touched\nthem and did them no harm, but she knew Joffrey liked hunting, especially the killing\npart. Only animals, though. Sansa was certain her prince had no part in murdering Jory\nand those other poor men; that had been his wicked uncle, the Kingslayer. She knew her\nfather was still angry about that, but it wasn’t fair to blame Joff. That would be like\nblaming her for something that Arya had done.\n"
## [435] "“I saw your sister this afternoon,” Jeyne blurted out, as if she’d been reading Sansa’s\nthoughts. “She was walking through the stables on her hands. Why would she do a thing\nlike that?”\n\n“I’m sure I don’t know why Arya does anything.” Sansa hated stables, smelly places full\nof manure and flies. Even when she went riding, she liked the boy to saddle the horse\nand bring it to her in the yard. “Do you want to hear about the court or not?”\n\n“I do,” Jeyne said.\n\n“There was a black brother,” Sansa said, “begging men for the Wall, only he was kind of\nold and smelly.” She hadn’t liked that at all. She had always imagined the Night’s Watch\nto be men like Uncle Benjen. In the songs, they were called the black knights of the Wall.\nBut this man had been crookbacked and hideous, and he looked as though he might have\nlice. If this was what the Night’s Watch was truly like, she felt sorry for her bastard half\nbrother, Jon. “Father asked if there were any knights in the hall who would do honor to\ntheir houses by taking the black, but no one came forward, so he gave this Yoren his pick\nof the king’s dungeons and sent him on his way. And later these two brothers came\nbefore him, freeriders from the Dornish Marches, and pledged their swords to the\nservice of the king. Father accepted their oaths . . . ”\n\nJeyne yawned. “Are there any lemon cakes?”\n\nSansa did not like being interrupted, but she had to admit, lemon cakes sounded more\ninteresting than most of what had gone on in the throne room. “Let’s see,” she said.\n\nThe kitchen yielded no lemon cakes, but they did find half of a cold strawberry pie, and\nthat was almost as good. They ate it on the tower steps, giggling and gossiping and\nsharing secrets, and Sansa went to bed that night feeling almost as wicked as Arya.\n\nThe next morning she woke before first light and crept sleepily to her window to watch\nLord Beric form up his men. They rode out as dawn was breaking over the city, with\nthree banners going before them; the crowned stag of the king flew from the high staff,\nthe direwolf of Stark and Lord Beric’s own forked lightning standard from shorter poles.\nIt was all so exciting, a song come to life; the clatter of swords, the flicker of torchlight,\nbanners dancing in the wind, horses snorting and whinnying, the golden glow of sunrise\nslanting through the bars of the portcullis as it jerked upward. The Winterfell men\nlooked especially fine in their silvery mail and long grey cloaks.\n\nAlyn carried the Stark banner. When she saw him rein in beside Lord Beric to exchange\nwords, it made Sansa feel ever so proud. Alyn was handsomer than Jory had been; he\nwas going to be a knight one day.\n"
## [436] "The Tower of the Hand seemed so empty after they left that Sansa was even pleased to\nsee Arya when she went down to break her fast. “Where is everyone?” her sister wanted\nto know as she ripped the skin from a blood orange. “Did Father send them to hunt\ndown Jaime Lannister?”\n\nSansa sighed. “They rode with Lord Beric, to behead Ser Gregor Clegane.” She turned to\nSepta Mordane, who was eating porridge with a wooden spoon. “Septa, will Lord Beric\nspike Ser Gregor’s head on his own gate or bring it back here for the king?” She and\nJeyne Poole had been arguing over that last night.\n\nThe septa was horror-struck. “A lady does not discuss such things over her porridge.\nWhere are your courtesies, Sansa? I swear, of late you’ve been near as bad as your sister.”\n\n“What did Gregor do?” Arya asked.\n\n“He burned down a holdfast and murdered a lot of people, women and children too.”\n\nArya screwed up her face in a scowl. “Jaime Lannister murdered Jory and Heward and\nWyl, and the Hound murdered Mycah. Somebody should have beheaded them.”\n\n“It’s not the same,” Sansa said. “The Hound is Joffrey’s sworn shield. Your butcher’s boy\nattacked the prince.”\n\n“Liar,” Arya said. Her hand clenched the blood orange so hard that red juice oozed\nbetween her fingers.\n\n“Go ahead, call me all the names you want,” Sansa said airily. “You won’t dare when I’m\nmarried to Joffrey. You’ll have to bow to me and call me Your Grace.” She shrieked as\nArya flung the orange across the table. It caught her in the middle of the forehead with a\nwet squish and plopped down into her lap.\n\n“You have juice on your face, Your Grace,” Arya said.\n\nIt was running down her nose and stinging her eyes. Sansa wiped it away with a napkin.\nWhen she saw what the fruit in her lap had done to her beautiful ivory silk dress, she\nshrieked again. “You’re horrible,” she screamed at her sister. “They should have killed\nyou instead of Lady!”\n\nSepta Mordane came lurching to her feet. “Your lord father will hear of this! Go to your\nchambers, at once. At once!”\n"
## [437] "“Me too?” Tears welled in Sansa’s eyes. “That’s not fair.”\n\n“The matter is not subject to discussion. Go!”\n\nSansa stalked away with her head up. She was to be a queen, and queens did not cry. At\nleast not where people could see. When she reached her bedchamber, she barred the\ndoor and took off her dress. The blood orange had left a blotchy red stain on the silk. “I\nhate her!” she screamed. She balled up the dress and flung it into the cold hearth, on top\nof the ashes of last night’s fire. When she saw that the stain had bled through onto her\nunderskirt, she began to sob despite herself. She ripped off the rest of her clothes wildly,\nthrew herself into bed, and cried herself back to sleep.\n\nIt was midday when Septa Mordane knocked upon her door. “Sansa. Your lord father\nwill see you now.”\n\nSansa sat up. “Lady,” she whispered. For a moment it was as if the direwolf was there in\nthe room, looking at her with those golden eyes, sad and knowing. She had been\ndreaming, she realized. Lady was with her, and they were running together,\nand . . . and . . . trying to remember was like trying to catch the rain with her fingers. The\ndream faded, and Lady was dead again.\n\n“Sansa.” The rap came again, sharply. “Do you hear me?”\n\n“Yes, Septa,” she called out. “Might I have a moment to dress, please?” Her eyes were red\nfrom crying, but she did her best to make herself beautiful.\n\nLord Eddard was bent over a huge leather-bound book when Septa Mordane marched\nher into the solar, his plaster-wrapped leg stiff beneath the table. “Come here, Sansa,” he\nsaid, not unkindly, when the septa had gone for her sister. “Sit beside me.” He closed the\nbook.\n\nSepta Mordane returned with Arya squirming in her grasp. Sansa had put on a lovely\npale green damask gown and a look of remorse, but her sister was still wearing the ratty\nleathers and roughspun she’d worn at breakfast. “Here is the other one,” the septa\nannounced.\n\n“My thanks, Septa Mordane. I would talk to my daughters alone, if you would be so\nkind.” The septa bowed and left.\n\n“Arya started it,” Sansa said quickly, anxious to have the first word. “She called me a liar\nand threw an orange at me and spoiled my dress, the ivory silk, the one Queen Cersei\n"
## [438] "gave me when I was betrothed to Prince Joffrey. She hates that I’m going to marry the\nprince. She tries to spoil everything, Father, she can’t stand for anything to be beautiful\nor nice or splendid.”\n\n“Enough, Sansa.” Lord Eddard’s voice was sharp with impatience.\n\nArya raised her eyes. “I’m sorry, Father. I was wrong and I beg my sweet sister’s\nforgiveness.”\n\nSansa was so startled that for a moment she was speechless. Finally she found her voice.\n“What about my dress?”\n\n“Maybe . . . I could wash it,” Arya said doubtfully.\n\n“Washing won’t do any good,” Sansa said. “Not if you scrubbed all day and all night. The\nsilk is ruined.”\n\n“Then I’ll . . . make you a new one,” Arya said.\n\nSansa threw back her head in disdain. “You? You couldn’t sew a dress fit to clean the\npigsties.”\n\nTheir father sighed. “I did not call you here to talk of dresses. I’m sending you both back\nto Winterfell.”\n\nFor the second time Sansa found herself too stunned for words. She felt her eyes grow\nmoist again.\n\n“You can’t,” Arya said.\n\n“Please, Father,” Sansa managed at last. “Please don’t.”\n\nEddard Stark favored his daughters with a tired smile. “At last we’ve found something\nyou agree on.”\n\n“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Sansa pleaded with him. “I don’t want to go back.” She\nloved Mng’s Landing; the pagaentry of the court, the high lords and ladies in their\nvelvets and silks and gemstones, the great city with all its people. The tournament had\nbeen the most magical time of her whole life, and there was so much she had not seen\nyet, harvest feasts and masked balls and mummer shows. She could not bear the thought\nof losing it all. “Send Arya away, she started it, Father, I swear it. I’ll be good, you’ll see,\n"
## [439] "just let me stay and I promise to be as fine and noble and courteous as the queen.”\n\nFather’s mouth twitched strangely. “Sansa, I’m not sending you away for fighting,\nthough the gods know I’m sick of you two squabbling. I want you back in Winterfell for\nyour own safety. Three of my men were cut down like dogs not a league from where we\nsit, and what does Robert do? He goes hunting.”\n\nArya was chewing at her lip in that disgusting way she had. “Can we take Syrio back with\nus?”\n\n“Who cares about your stupid dancing master?” Sansa flared. “Father, I only just now\nremembered, I can’t go away, I’m to marry Prince Joffrey.” She tried to smile bravely for\nhim. “I love him, Father, I truly truly do, I love him as much as Queen Naerys loved\nPrince Aemon the Dragonknight, as much as Jonquil loved Ser Florian. I want to be his\nqueen and have his babies.”\n\n“Sweet one,” her father said gently, “listen to me. When you’re old enough, I will make\nyou a match with a high lord who’s worthy of you, someone brave and gentle and strong.\nThis match with Joffrey was a terrible mistake. That boy is no Prince Aemon, you must\nbelieve me.”\n\n“He is!” Sansa insisted. “I don’t want someone brave and gentle, I want him. We’ll be\never so happy, just like in the songs, you’ll see. I’ll give him a son with golden hair, and\none day he’ll be the king of all the realm, the greatest king that ever was, as brave as the\nwolf and as proud as the lion.”\n\nArya made a face. “Not if Joffrey’s his father,” she said. “He’s a liar and a craven and\nanyhow he’s a stag, not a lion.”\n\nSansa felt tears in her eyes. “He is not! He’s not the least bit like that old drunken king,”\nshe screamed at her sister, forgetting herself in her grief.\n\nFather looked at her strangely. “Gods,” he swore softly, “out of the mouth of babes . . . ”\nHe shouted for Septa Mordane. To the girls he said, “I am looking for a fast trading\ngalley to take you home. These days, the sea is safer than the kingsroad. You will sail as\nsoon as I can find a proper ship, with Septa Mordane and a complement of\nguards . . . and yes, with Syrio Forel, if he agrees to enter my service. But say nothing of\nthis. It’s better if no one knows of our plans. We’ll talk again tomorrow.”\n\nSansa cried as Septa Mordane marched them down the steps. They were going to take it\nall away; the tournaments and the court and her prince, everything, they were going to\nsend her back to the bleak grey walls of Winterfell and lock her up forever. Her life was\n"
## [440] "over before it had begun.\n\n“Stop that weeping, child,” Septa Mordane said sternly. “I am certain your lord father\nknows what is best for you.”\n\n“It won’t be so bad, Sansa,” Arya said. “We’re going to sail on a galley. It will be an\nadventure, and then we’ll be with Bran and Robb again, and Old Nan and Hodor and the\nrest.” She touched her on the arm.\n\n“Hodor!” Sansa yelled. “You ought to marry Hodor, you’re just like him, stupid and hairy\nand ugly!” She wrenched away from her sister’s hand, stormed into her bedchamber,\nand barred the door behind her.\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [441] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n EDDARD\nPain is a gift from the gods, Lord Eddard,” Grand Maester Pycelle told him. “It means\nthe bone is knitting, the flesh healing itself. Be thankful.”\n\n“I will be thankful when my leg stops throbbing.”\n\nPycelle set a stoppered flask on the table by the bed. “The milk of the poppy, for when\nthe pain grows too onerous.”\n\n“I sleep too much already.”\n\n“Sleep is the great healer.”\n\n“I had hoped that was you.”\n\nPycelle smiled wanly. “It is good to see you in such a fierce humor, my lord.” He leaned\nclose and lowered his voice. “There was a raven this morning, a letter for the queen from\nher lord father. I thought you had best know.”\n\n“Dark wings, dark words,” Ned said grimly. “What of it?”\n\n“Lord Tywin is greatly wroth about the men you sent after Ser Gregor Clegane,” the\nmaester confided. “I feared he would be. You will recall, I said as much in council.”\n\n“Let him be wroth,” Ned said. Every time his leg throbbed, he remembered Jaime\nLannister’s smile, and Jory dead in his arms. “Let him write all the letters to the queen\nhe likes. Lord Beric rides beneath the king’s own banner. If Lord Tywin attempts to\ninterfere with the king’s justice, he will have Robert to answer to. The only thing His\nGrace enjoys more than hunting is making war on lords who defy him.”\n\nPycelle pulled back, his maester’s chain jangling. “As you say. I shall visit again on the\nmorrow.” The old man hurriedly gathered up his things and took his leave. Ned had little\ndoubt that he was bound straight for the royal apartments, to whisper at the queen. I\nthought you had best know, indeed . . . as if Cersei had not instructed him to pass along\nher father’s threats. He hoped his response rattled those perfect teeth of hers. Ned was\nnot near as confident of Robert as he pretended, but there was no reason Cersei need\n"
## [442] "know that.\n\nWhen Pycelle was gone, Ned called for a cup of honeyed wine. That clouded the mind as\nwell, yet not as badly. He needed to be able to think. A thousand times, he asked himself\nwhat Jon Arryn might have done, had he lived long enough to act on what he’d learned.\nOr perhaps he had acted, and died for it.\n\nIt was queer how sometimes a child’s innocent eyes can see things that grown men are\nblind to. Someday, when Sansa was grown, he would have to tell her how she had made\nit all come clear for him. He’s not the least bit like that old drunken king, she had\ndeclared, angry and unknowing, and the simple truth of it had twisted inside him, cold\nas death. This was the sword that killed Jon Arryn, Ned thought then, and it will kill\nRobert as well, a slower death but full as certain. Shattered legs may heal in time, but\nsome betrayals fester and poison the soul.\n\nLittlefinger came calling an hour after the Grand Maester had left, clad in a plum-\ncolored doublet with a mockingbird embroidered on the breast in black thread, and a\nstriped cloak of black and white. “I cannot visit long, my lord,” he announced. “Lady\nTanda expects me to lunch with her. No doubt she will roast me a fatted calf. If it’s near\nas fatted as her daughter, I’m like to rupture and die. And how is your leg?”\n\n“Inflamed and painful, with an itch that is driving me mad.”\n\nLittlefinger lifted an eyebrow. “In future, try not to let any horses fall on it. I would urge\nyou to heal quickly. The realm grows restive. Varys has heard ominous whispers from\nthe west. Freeriders and sellswords have been flocking to Casterly Rock, and not for the\nthin pleasure of Lord Tywin’s conversation.”\n\n“Is there word of the king?” Ned demanded. “Just how long does Robert intend to hunt?”\n\n“Given his preferences, I believe he’d stay in the forest until you and the queen both die\nof old age,” Lord Petyr replied with a faint smile. “Lacking that, I imagine he’ll return as\nsoon as he’s killed something. They found the white hart, it seems . . . or rather, what\nremained of it. Some wolves found it first, and left His Grace scarcely more than a hoof\nand a horn. Robert was in a fury, until he heard talk of some monstrous boar deeper in\nthe forest. Then nothing would do but he must have it. Prince Joffrey returned this\nmorning, with the Royces, Ser Balon Swann, and some twenty others of the party. The\nrest are still with the king.”\n\n“The Hound?” Ned asked, frowning. Of all the Lannister party, Sandor Clegane was the\none who concerned him the most, now that Ser Jaime had fled the city to join his father.\n"
## [443] "“Oh, returned with Joffrey, and went straight to the queen.” Littlefinger smiled. “I would\nhave given a hundred silver stags to have been a roach in the rushes when he learned\nthat Lord Beric was off to behead his brother.”\n\n“Even a blind man could see the Hound loathed his brother.”\n\n“Ah, but Gregor was his to loathe, not yours to kill. Once Dondarrion lops the summit off\nour Mountain, the Clegane lands and incomes will pass to Sandor, but I wouldn’t hold\nmy water waiting for his thanks, not that one. And now you must forgive me. Lady\nTanda awaits with her fatted calves.”\n\nOn the way to the door, Lord Petyr spied Grand Maester Malleon’s massive tome on the\ntable and paused to idly flip open the cover. “The Lineages and Histories of the Great\nHouses of the Seven Kingdoms, With Descriptions of Many High Lords and Noble\nLadies and Their Children,“ he read. “Now there is tedious reading if ever I saw it. A\nsleeping potion, my lord?”\n\nFor a brief moment Ned considered telling him all of it, but there was something in\nLittlefinger’s japes that irked him. The man was too clever by half, a mocking smile\nnever far from his lips. “Jon Arryn was studying this volume when he was taken sick,”\nNed said in a careful tone, to see how he might respond.\n\nAnd he responded as he always did: with a quip. “In that case,” he said, “death must\nhave come as a blessed relief.” Lord Petyr Baelish bowed and took his leave.\n\nEddard Stark allowed himself a curse. Aside from his own retainers, there was scarcely a\nman in this city he trusted. Littlefinger had concealed Catelyn and helped Ned in his\ninquiries, yet his haste to save his own skin when Jaime and his swords had come out of\nthe rain still rankled. Varys was worse. For all his protestations of loyalty, the eunuch\nknew too much and did too little. Grand Maester Pycelle seemed more Cersei’s creature\nwith every passing day, and Ser Barristan was an old man, and rigid. He would tell Ned\nto do his duty.\n\nTime was perilously short. The king would return from his hunt soon, and honor would\nrequire Ned to go to him with all he had learned. Vayon Poole had arranged for Sansa\nand Arya to sail on the Wind Witch out of Braavos, three days hence. They would be\nback at Winterfell before the harvest. Ned could no longer use his concern for their\nsafety to excuse his delay.\n\nYet last night he had dreamt of Rhaegar’s children. Lord Tywin had laid the bodies\nbeneath the Iron Throne, wrapped in the crimson cloaks of his house guard. That was\nclever of him; the blood did not show so badly against the red cloth. The little princess\n"
## [444] "had been barefoot, still dressed in her bed gown, and the boy . . . the boy . . .\n\nNed could not let that happen again. The realm could not withstand a second mad king,\nanother dance of blood and vengeance. He must find some way to save the children.\n\nRobert could be merciful. Ser Barristan was scarcely the only man he had pardoned.\nGrand Maester Pycelle, Varys the Spider, Lord Balon Greyjoy; each had been counted an\nenemy to Robert once, and each had been welcomed into friendship and allowed to\nretain honors and office for a pledge of fealty. So long as a man was brave and honest,\nRobert would treat him with all the honor and respect due a valiant enemy.\n\nThis was something else: poison in the dark, a knife thrust to the soul. This he could\nnever forgive, no more than he had forgiven Rhaegar. He will kill them all, Ned realized.\n\nAnd yet, he knew he could not keep silent. He had a duty to Robert, to the realm, to the\nshade of Jon Arryn . . . and to Bran, who surely must have stumbled on some part of the\ntruth. Why else would they have tried to slay him?\n\nLate that afternoon he summoned Tomard, the portly guardsman with the ginger-\ncolored whiskers his children called Fat Tom. With Jory dead and Alyn gone, Fat Tom\nhad command of his household guard. The thought filled Ned with vague disquiet.\nTomard was a solid man; affable, loyal, tireless, capable in a limited way, but he was\nnear fifty, and even in his youth he had never been energetic. Perhaps Ned should not\nhave been so quick to send off half his guard, and all his best swords among them.\n\n“I shall require your help,” Ned said when Tomard appeared, looking faintly\napprehensive, as he always did when called before his lord. “Take me to the godswood.”\n\n“Is that wise, Lord Eddard? With your leg and all?”\n\n“Perhaps not. But necessary.”\n\nTomard summoned Varly. With one arm around each man’s shoulders, Ned managed to\ndescend the steep tower steps and hobble across the bailey. “I want the guard doubled,”\nhe told Fat Tom. “No one enters or leaves the Tower of the Hand without my leave.”\n\nTom blinked. “M’lord, with Alyn and the others away, we are hard-pressed already—”\n\n“It will only be a short while. Lengthen the watches.”\n\n“As you say, m’lord,” Tom answered. “Might I ask why—”\n"
## [445] "“Best not,” Ned answered crisply.\n\nThe godswood was empty, as it always was here in this citadel of the southron gods.\nNed’s leg was screaming as they lowered him to the grass beside the heart tree. “Thank\nyou.” He drew a paper from his sleeve, sealed with the sigil of his House. “Kindly deliver\nthis at once.”\n\nTomard looked at the name Ned had written on the paper and licked his lips anxiously.\n“My lord . . . ”\n\n“Do as I bid you, Tom,” Ned said.\n\nHow long he waited in the quiet of the godswood, he could not say. It was peaceful here.\nThe thick walls shut out the clamor of the castle, and he could hear birds singing, the\nmurmur of crickets, leaves rustling in a gentle wind. The heart tree was an oak, brown\nand faceless, yet Ned Stark still felt the presence of his gods. His leg did not seem to hurt\nso much.\n\nShe came to him at sunset, as the clouds reddened above the walls and towers. She came\nalone, as he had bid her. For once she was dressed simply, in leather boots and hunting\ngreens. When she drew back the hood of her brown cloak, he saw the bruise where the\nking had struck her. The angry plum color had faded to yellow, and the swelling was\ndown, but there was no mistaking it for anything but what it was.\n\n“Why here?” Cersei Lannister asked as she stood over him.\n\n“So the gods can see.”\n\nShe sat beside him on the grass. Her every move was graceful. Her curling blond hair\nmoved in the wind, and her eyes were green as the leaves of summer. It had been a long\ntime since Ned Stark had seen her beauty, but he saw it now. “I know the truth Jon\nArryn died for,” he told her.\n\n“Do you?” The queen watched his face, wary as a cat. “Is that why you called me here,\nLord Stark? To pose me riddles? Or is it your intent to seize me, as your wife seized my\nbrother?”\n\n“If you truly believed that, you would never have come.” Ned touched her cheek gently.\n“Has he done this before?”\n\n“Once or twice.” She shied away from his hand. “Never on the face before. Jaime would\n"
## [446] "have killed him, even if it meant his own life.” Cersei looked at him defiantly. “My\nbrother is worth a hundred of your friend.”\n\n“Your brother?” Ned said. “Or your lover?”\n\n“Both.” She did not flinch from the truth. “Since we were children together. And why\nnot? The Targaryens wed brother to sister for three hundred years, to keep the\nbloodlines pure. And Jaime and I are more than brother and sister. We are one person in\ntwo bodies. We shared a womb together. He came into this world holding my foot, our\nold maester said. When he is in me, I feel . . . whole.” The ghost of a smile flitted over her\nlips.\n\n“My son Bran . . . ”\n\nTo her credit, Cersei did not look away. “He saw us. You love your children, do you not?”\n\nRobert had asked him the very same question, the morning of the melee. He gave her the\nsame answer. “With all my heart.”\n\n“No less do I love mine.”\n\nNed thought, If it came to that, the life of some child I did not know, against Robb and\nSansa and Arya and Bran and Rickon, what would I do? Even more so, what would\nCatelyn do, if it were Jon’s life, against the children of her body? He did not know. He\nprayed he never would.\n\n“All three are Jaime’s,” he said. It was not a question.\n\n“Thank the gods.”\n\nThe seed is strong, Jon Arryn had cried on his deathbed, and so it was. All those\nbastards, all with hair as black as night. Grand Maester Malleon recorded the last mating\nbetween stag and lion, some ninety years ago, when Tya Lannister wed Gowen\nBaratheon, third son of the reigning lord. Their only issue, an unnamed boy described in\nMalleon’s tome as a large and lusty lad born with a full head of black hair, died in\ninfancy. Thirty years before that a male Lannister had taken a Baratheon maid to wife.\nShe had given him three daughters and a son, each black-haired. No matter how far back\nNed searched in the brittle yellowed pages, always he found the gold yielding before the\ncoal.\n\n“A dozen years,” Ned said. “How is it that you have had no children by the king?”\n"
## [447] "She lifted her head, defiant. “Your Robert got me with child once,” she said, her voice\nthick with contempt. “My brother found a woman to cleanse me. He never knew. If truth\nbe told, I can scarcely bear for him to touch me, and I have not let him inside me for\nyears. I know other ways to pleasure him, when he leaves his whores long enough to\nstagger up to my bedchamber. Whatever we do, the king is usually so drunk that he’s\nforgotten it all by the next morning.”\n\nHow could they have all been so blind? The truth was there in front of them all the time,\nwritten on the children’s faces. Ned felt sick. “I remember Robert as he was the day he\ntook the throne, every inch a king,” he said quietly. “A thousand other women might\nhave loved him with all their hearts. What did he do to make you hate him so?”\n\nHer eyes burned, green fire in the dusk, like the lioness that was her sigil. “The night of\nour wedding feast, the first time we shared a bed, he called me by your sister’s name. He\nwas on top of me, in me, stinking of wine, and he whispered Lyanna.”\n\nNed Stark thought of pale blue roses, and for a moment he wanted to weep. “I do not\nknow which of you I pity most.”\n\nThe queen seemed amused by that. “Save your pity for yourself, Lord Stark. I want none\nof it.”\n\n“You know what I must do.”\n\n“Must?” She put her hand on his good leg, just above the knee. “A true man does what he\nwill, not what he must.” Her fingers brushed lightly against his thigh, the gentlest of\npromises. “The realm needs a strong Hand. Joff will not come of age for years. No one\nwants war again, least of all me.” Her hand touched his face, his hair. “If friends can turn\nto enemies, enemies can become friends. Your wife is a thousand leagues away, and my\nbrother has fled. Be kind to me, Ned. I swear to you, you shall never regret it.”\n\n“Did you make the same offer to Jon Arryn?”\n\nShe slapped him.\n\n“I shall wear that as a badge of honor,” Ned said dryly.\n\n“Honor,” she spat. “How dare you play the noble lord with me! What do you take me\nfor? You’ve a bastard of your own, I’ve seen him. Who was the mother, I wonder? Some\nDornish peasant you raped while her holdfast burned? A whore? Or was it the grieving\nsister, the Lady Ashara? She threw herself into the sea, I’m told. Why was that? For the\nbrother you slew, or the child you stole? Tell me, my honorable Lord Eddard, how are\n"
## [448] "you any different from Robert, or me, or Jaime?”\n\n“For a start,” said Ned, “I do not kill children. You would do well to listen, my lady. I\nshall say this only once. When the king returns from his hunt, I intend to lay the truth\nbefore him. You must be gone by then. You and your children, all three, and not to\nCasterly Rock. If I were you, I should take ship for the Free Cities, or even farther, to the\nSummer Isles or the Port of Ibben. As far as the winds blow.”\n\n“Exile,” she said. “A bitter cup to drink from.”\n\n“A sweeter cup than your father served Rhaegar’s children,” Ned said, “and kinder than\nyou deserve. Your father and your brothers would do well to go with you. Lord Tywin’s\ngold will buy you comfort and hire swords to keep you safe. You shall need them. I\npromise you, no matter where you flee, Robert’s wrath will follow you, to the back of\nbeyond if need be.”\n\nThe queen stood. “And what of my wrath, Lord Stark?” she asked softly. Her eyes\nsearched his face. “You should have taken the realm for yourself. It was there for the\ntaking. Jaime told me how you found him on the Iron Throne the day King’s Landing\nfell, and made him yield it up. That was your moment. All you needed to do was climb\nthose steps, and sit. Such a sad mistake.”\n\n“I have made more mistakes than you can possibly imagine,” Ned said, “but that was not\none of them.”\n\n“Oh, but it was, my lord,” Cersei insisted. “When you play the game of thrones, you win\nor you die. There is no middle ground.”\n\nShe turned up her hood to hide her swollen face and left him there in the dark beneath\nthe oak, amidst the quiet of the godswood, under a blue-black sky. The stars were\ncoming out.\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [449] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n DAENERYS\nThe heart was steaming in the cool evening air when Khal Drogo set it before her, raw\nand bloody. His arms were red to the elbow. Behind him, his bloodriders knelt on the\nsand beside the corpse of the wild stallion, stone knives in their hands. The stallion’s\nblood looked black in the flickering orange glare of the torches that ringed the high chalk\nwalls of the pit.\n\nDany touched the soft swell of her belly. Sweat beaded her skin and trickled down her\nbrow. She could feel the old women watching her, the ancient crones of Vaes Dothrak,\nwith eyes that shone dark as polished flint in their wrinkled faces. She must not flinch or\nlook afraid. I am the blood of the dragon, she told herself as she took the stallion’s heart\nin both hands, lifted it to her mouth, and plunged her teeth into the tough, stringy flesh.\n\nWarm blood filled her mouth and ran down over her chin. The taste threatened to gag\nher, but she made herself chew and swallow. The heart of a stallion would make her son\nstrong and swift and fearless, or so the Dothraki believed, but only if the mother could\neat it all. If she choked on the blood or retched up the flesh, the omens were less\nfavorable; the child might be stillborn, or come forth weak, deformed, or female.\n\nHer handmaids had helped her ready herself for the ceremony. Despite the tender\nmother’s stomach that had afflicted her these past two moons, Dany had dined on bowls\nof half-clotted blood to accustom herself to the taste, and Irri made her chew strips of\ndried horseflesh until her jaws were aching. She had starved herself for a day and a night\nbefore the ceremony in the hopes that hunger would help her keep down the raw meat.\n\nThe wild stallion’s heart was all muscle, and Dany had to worry it with her teeth and\nchew each mouthful a long time. No steel was permitted within the sacred confines of\nVaes Dothrak, beneath the shadow of the Mother of Mountains; she had to rip the heart\napart with teeth and nails. Her stomach roiled and heaved, yet she kept on, her face\nsmeared with the heartsblood that sometimes seemed to explode against her lips.\n\nKhal Drogo stood over her as she ate, his face as hard as a bronze shield. His long black\nbraid was shiny with oil. He wore gold rings in his mustache, gold bells in his braid, and\na heavy belt of solid gold medallions around his waist, but his chest was bare. She looked\nat him whenever she felt her strength failing; looked at him, and chewed and swallowed,\nchewed and swallowed, chewed and swallowed. Toward the end, Dany thought she\n"
## [450] "glimpsed a fierce pride in his dark, almond-shaped eyes, but she could not be sure. The\nkhal’s face did not often betray the thoughts within.\n\nAnd finally it was done. Her cheeks and fingers were sticky as she forced down the last of\nit. Only then did she turn her eyes back to the old women, the crones of the dosh khaleen.\n\n“Khalakka dothrae mr’anha!” she proclaimed in her best Dothraki. A prince rides inside\nme! She had practiced the phrase for days with her handmaid Jhiqui.\n\nThe oldest of the crones, a bent and shriveled stick of a woman with a single black eye,\nraised her arms on high. “Khalakka dothrae!” she shrieked. The prince is riding!\n\n“He is riding!” the other women answered. “Rakh! Rakh! Rakh haj!” they proclaimed. A\nboy, a boy, a strong boy.\n\nBells rang, a sudden clangor of bronze birds. A deep-throated warhorn sounded its long\nlow note. The old women began to chant. Underneath their painted leather vests, their\nwithered dugs swayed back and forth, shiny with oil and sweat. The eunuchs who served\nthem threw bundles of dried grasses into a great bronze brazier, and clouds of fragrant\nsmoke rose up toward the moon and the stars. The Dothraki believed the stars were\nhorses made of fire, a great herd that galloped across the sky by night.\n\nAs the smoke ascended, the chanting died away and the ancient crone closed her single\neye, the better to peer into the future. The silence that fell was complete. Dany could\nhear the distant call of night birds, the hiss and crackle of the torches, the gentle lapping\nof water from the lake. The Dothraki stared at her with eyes of night, waiting.\n\nKhal Drogo laid his hand on Dany’s arm. She could feel the tension in his fingers. Even a\nkhal as mighty as Drogo could know fear when the dosh khaleen peered into smoke of\nthe future. At her back, her handmaids fluttered anxiously.\n\nFinally the crone opened her eye and lifted her arms. “I have seen his face, and heard the\nthunder of his hooves,” she proclaimed in a thin, wavery voice.\n\n“The thunder of his hooves!” the others chorused.\n\n“As swift as the wind he rides, and behind him his khalasar covers the earth, men\nwithout number, with arakhs shining in their hands like blades of razor grass. Fierce as\na storm this prince will be. His enemies will tremble before him, and their wives will\nweep tears of blood and rend their flesh in grief. The bells in his hair will sing his\ncoming, and the milk men in the stone tents will fear his name.” The old woman\ntrembled and looked at Dany almost as if she were afraid. “The prince is riding, and he\n"
## [451] "shall be the stallion who mounts the world.”\n\n“The stallion who mounts the world!” the onlookers cried in echo, until the night rang to\nthe sound of their voices.\n\nThe one-eyed crone peered at Dany. “What shall he be called, the stallion who mounts\nthe world?”\n\nShe stood to answer. “He shall be called Rhaego,” she said, using the words that Jhiqui\nhad taught her. Her hands touched the swell beneath her breasts protectively as a roar\nwent up from the Dothraki. “Rhaego,” they screamed. “Rhaego, Rhaego, Rhaego!”\n\nThe name was still ringing in her ears as Khal Drogo led her from the pit. His\nbloodriders fell in behind them. A procession followed them out onto the godsway, the\nbroad grassy road that ran through the heart of Vaes Dothrak, from the horse gate to the\nMother of Mountains. The crones of the dosh khaleen came first, with their eunuchs and\nslaves. Some supported themselves with tall carved staffs as they struggled along on\nancient, shaking legs, while others walked as proud as any horselord. Each of the old\nwomen had been a khaleesi once. When their lord husbands died and a new khal took\nhis place at the front of his riders, with a new khaleesi mounted beside him, they were\nsent here, to reign over the vast Dothraki nation. Even the mightiest of khals bowed to\nthe wisdom and authority of the dosh khaleen. Still, it gave Dany the shivers to think\nthat one day she might be sent to join them, whether she willed it or no.\n\nBehind the wise women came the others; Khal Ogo and his son, the khalakka Fogo, Khal\nJommo and his wives, the chief men of Drogo’s khalasar, Dany’s handmaids, the khal’s\nservants and slaves, and more. Bells rang and drums beat a stately cadence as they\nmarched along the godsway. Stolen heroes and the gods of dead peoples brooded in the\ndarkness beyond the road. Alongside the procession, slaves ran lightly through the grass\nwith torches in their hands, and the flickering flames made the great monuments seem\nalmost alive.\n\n“What is meaning, name Rhaego?” Khal Drogo asked as they walked, using the Common\nTongue of the Seven Kingdoms. She had been teaching him a few words when she could.\nDrogo was quick to learn when he put his mind to it, though his accent was so thick and\nbarbarous that neither Ser Jorah nor Viserys could understand a word he said.\n\n“My brother Rhaegar was a fierce warrior, my sun-and-stars,” she told him. “He died\nbefore I was born. Ser Jorah says that he was the last of the dragons.”\n\nKhal Drogo looked down at her. His face was a copper mask, yet under the long black\nmustache, drooping beneath the weight of its gold rings, she thought she glimpsed the\n"
## [452] "shadow of a smile. “Is good name, Dan Ares wife, moon of my life,” he said.\n\nThey rode to the lake the Dothraki called the Womb of the World, surrounded by a\nfringe of reeds, its water still and calm. A thousand thousand years ago, Jhiqui told her,\nthe first man had emerged from its depths, riding upon the back of the first horse.\n\nThe procession waited on the grassy shore as Dany stripped and let her soiled clothing\nfall to the ground. Naked, she stepped gingerly into the water. Irri said the lake had no\nbottom, but Dany felt soft mud squishing between her toes as she pushed through the\ntall reeds. The moon floated on the still black waters, shattering and re-forming as her\nripples washed over it. Goose pimples rose on her pale skin as the coldness crept up her\nthighs and kissed her lower lips. The stallion’s blood had dried on her hands and around\nher mouth. Dany cupped her fingers and lifted the sacred waters over her head,\ncleansing herself and the child inside her while the khal and the others looked on. She\nheard the old women of the dosh khaleen muttering to each other as they watched, and\nwondered what they were saying.\n\nWhen she emerged from the lake, shivering and dripping, her handmaid Doreah hurried\nto her with a robe of painted sandsilk, but Khal Drogo waved her away. He was looking\non her swollen breasts and the curve of her belly with approval, and Dany could see the\nshape of his manhood pressing through his horsehide trousers, below the heavy gold\nmedallions of his belt. She went to him and helped him unlace. Then her huge khal took\nher by the hips and lifted her into the air, as he might lift a child. The bells in his hair\nrang softly.\n\nDany wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pressed her face against his neck as\nhe thrust himself inside her. Three quick strokes and it was done. “The stallion who\nmounts the world,” Drogo whispered hoarsely. His hands still smelled of horse blood.\nHe bit at her throat, hard, in the moment of his pleasure, and when he lifted her off, his\nseed filled her and trickled down the inside of her thighs. Only then was Doreah\npermitted to drape her in the scented sandsilk, and Irri to fit soft slippers to her feet.\n\nKhal Drogo laced himself up and spoke a command, and horses were brought to the\nlakeshore. Cohollo had the honor of helping the khaleesi onto her silver. Drogo spurred\nhis stallion, and set off down the godsway beneath the moon and stars. On her silver,\nDany easily kept pace.\n\nThe silk tenting that roofed Khal Drogo’s hall had been rolled up tonight, and the moon\nfollowed them inside. Flames leapt ten feet in the air from three huge stone-lined\nfirepits. The air was thick with the smells of roasting meat and curdled, fermented\nmare’s milk. The hall was crowded and noisy when they entered, the cushions packed\nwith those whose rank and name were not sufficient to allow them at the ceremony. As\n"
## [453] "Dany rode beneath the arched entry and up the center aisle, every eye was on her. The\nDothraki screamed out comments on her belly and her breasts, hailing the life within\nher. She could not understand all they shouted, but one phrase came clear. “The stallion\nthat mounts the world,” she heard, bellowed in a thousand voices.\n\nThe sounds of drums and horns swirled up into the night. Half-clothed women spun and\ndanced on the low tables, amid joints of meat and platters piled high with plums and\ndates and pomegranates. Many of the men were drunk on clotted mare’s milk, yet Dany\nknew no arakhs would clash tonight, not here in the sacred city, where blades and\nbloodshed were forbidden.\n\nKhal Drogo dismounted and took his place on the high bench. Khal Jommo and Khal\nOgo, who had been in Vaes Dothrak with their khalasars when they arrived, were given\nseats of high honor to Drogo’s right and left. The bloodriders of the three khals sat below\nthem, and farther down Khal Jommo’s four wives.\n\nDany climbed off her silver and gave the reins to one of the slaves. As Doreah and Irri\narranged her cushions, she searched for her brother. Even across the length of the\ncrowded hall, Viserys should have been conspicuous with his pale skin, silvery hair, and\nbeggar’s rags, but she did not see him anywhere.\n\nHer glance roamed the crowded tables near the walls, where men whose braids were\neven shorter than their manhoods sat on frayed rugs and flat cushions around the low\ntables, but all the faces she saw had black eyes and copper skin. She spied Ser Jorah\nMormont near the center of the hall, close to the middle firepit. It was a place of respect,\nif not high honor; the Dothraki esteemed the knight’s prowess with a sword. Dany sent\nJhiqui to bring him to her table. Mormont came at once, and went to one knee before\nher. “Khaleesi,” he said, “I am yours to command.”\n\nShe patted the stuffed horsehide cushion beside her. “Sit and talk with me.”\n\n“You honor me.” The knight seated himself cross-legged on the cushion. A slave knelt\nbefore him, offering a wooden platter full of ripe figs. Ser Jorah took one and bit it in\nhalf.\n\n“Where is my brother?” Dany asked. “He ought to have come by now, for the feast.”\n\n“I saw His Grace this morning,” he told her. “He told me he was going to the Western\nMarket, in search of wine.”\n\n“Wine?” Dany said doubtfully. Viserys could not abide the taste of the fermented mare’s\nmilk the Dothraki drank, she knew that, and he was oft at the bazaars these days,\n"
## [454] "drinking with the traders who came in the great caravans from east and west. He seemed\nto find their company more congenial than hers.\n\n“Wine,” Ser Jorah confirmed, “and he has some thought to recruit men for his army\nfrom the sellswords who guard the caravans.” A serving girl laid a blood pie in front of\nhim, and he attacked it with both hands.\n\n“Is that wise?” she asked. “He has no gold to pay soldiers. What if he’s betrayed?”\nCaravan guards were seldom troubled much by thoughts of honor, and the Usurper in\nKing’s Landing would pay well for her brother’s head. “You ought to have gone with him,\nto keep him safe. You are his sworn sword.”\n\n“We are in Vaes Dothrak,” he reminded her. “No one may carry a blade here or shed a\nman’s blood.”\n\n“Yet men die,” she said. “Jhogo told me. Some of the traders have eunuchs with them,\nhuge men who strangle thieves with wisps of silk. That way no blood is shed and the\ngods are not angered.”\n\n“Then let us hope your brother will be wise enough not to steal anything.” Ser Jorah\nwiped the grease off his mouth with the back of his hand and leaned close over the table.\n“He had planned to take your dragon’s eggs, until I warned him that I’d cut off his hand\nif he so much as touched them.”\n\nFor a moment Dany was so shocked she had no words. “My eggs . . . but they’re mine,\nMagister Illyrio gave them to me, a bride gift, why would Viserys want . . . they’re only\nstones . . . ”\n\n“The same could be said of rubies and diamonds and fire opals, Princess . . . and\ndragon’s eggs are rarer by far. Those traders he’s been drinking with would sell their own\nmanhoods for even one of those stones, and with all three Viserys could buy as many\nsellswords as he might need.”\n\nDany had not known, had not even suspected. “Then . . . he should have them. He does\nnot need to steal them. He had only to ask. He is my brother . . . and my true king.”\n\n“He is your brother,” Ser Jorah acknowledged.\n\n“You do not understand, ser,” she said. “My mother died giving me birth, and my father\nand my brother Rhaegar even before that. I would never have known so much as their\nnames if Viserys had not been there to tell me. He was the only one left. The only one.\nHe is all I have.”\n"
## [455] "“Once,” said Ser Jorah. “No longer, Khaleesi. You belong to the Dothraki now. In your\nwomb rides the stallion who mounts the world.” He held out his cup, and a slave filled it\nwith fermented mare’s milk, sour-smelling and thick with clots.\n\nDany waved her away. Even the smell of it made her feel ill, and she would take no\nchances of bringing up the horse heart she had forced herself to eat. “What does it\nmean?” she asked. “What is this stallion? Everyone was shouting it at me, but I don’t\nunderstand.”\n\n“The stallion is the khal of khals promised in ancient prophecy, child. He will unite the\nDothraki into a single khalasar and ride to the ends of the earth, or so it was promised.\nAll the people of the world will be his herd.”\n\n“Oh,” Dany said in a small voice. Her hand smoothed her robe down over the swell of\nher stomach. “I named him Rhaego.”\n\n“A name to make the Usurper’s blood run cold.”\n\nSuddenly Doreah was tugging at her elbow. “My lady, “ the handmaid whispered\nurgently, “your brother . . . ”\n\nDany looked down the length of the long, roofless hall and there he was, striding toward\nher. From the lurch in his step, she could tell at once that Viserys had found his\nwine . . . and something that passed for courage.\n\nHe was wearing his scarlet silks, soiled and travel-stained. His cloak and gloves were\nblack velvet, faded from the sun. His boots were dry and cracked, his silver-blond hair\nmatted and tangled. A longsword swung from his belt in a leather scabbard. The\nDothraki eyed the sword as he passed; Dany heard curses and threats and angry\nmuttering rising all around her, like a tide. The music died away in a nervous\nstammering of drums.\n\nA sense of dread closed around her heart. “Go to him,” she commanded Ser Jorah. “Stop\nhim. Bring him here. Tell him he can have the dragon’s eggs if that is what he wants.”\nThe knight rose swiftly to his feet.\n\n“Where is my sister?” Viserys shouted, his voice thick with wine. “I’ve come for her feast.\nHow dare you presume to eat without me? No one eats before the king. Where is she?\nThe whore can’t hide from the dragon.”\n\nHe stopped beside the largest of the three firepits, peering around at the faces of the\n"
## [456] "Dothraki. There were five thousand men in the hall, but only a handful who knew the\nCommon Tongue. Yet even if his words were incomprehensible, you had only to look at\nhim to know that he was drunk.\n\nSer Jorah went to him swiftly, whispered something in his ear, and took him by the arm,\nbut Viserys wrenched free. “Keep your hands off me! No one touches the dragon without\nleave.”\n\nDany glanced anxiously up at the high bench. Khal Drogo was saying something to the\nother khals beside him. Khal Jommo grinned, and Khal Ogo began to guffaw loudly.\n\nThe sound of laughter made Viserys lift his eyes. “Khal Drogo,” he said thickly, his voice\nalmost polite. “I’m here for the feast.” He staggered away from Ser Jorah, making to join\nthe three khals on the high bench.\n\nKhal Drogo rose, spat out a dozen words in Dothraki, faster than Dany could\nunderstand, and pointed. “Khal Drogo says your place is not on the high bench,” Ser\nJorah translated for her brother. “Khal Drogo says your place is there.”\n\nViserys glanced where the khal was pointing. At the back of the long hall, in a corner by\nthe wall, deep in shadow so better men would not need to look on them, sat the lowest of\nthe low; raw unblooded boys, old men with clouded eyes and stiff joints, the dim-witted\nand the maimed. Far from the meat, and farther from honor. “That is no place for a\nking,” her brother declared.\n\n“Is place,” Khal Drogo answered, in the Common Tongue that Dany had taught him, “for\nSorefoot King.” He clapped his hands together. “A cart! Bring cart for Khal Rhaggat!”\n\nFive thousand Dothraki began to laugh and shout. Ser Jorah was standing beside\nViserys, screaming in his ear, but the roar in the hall was so thunderous that Dany could\nnot hear what he was saying. Her brother shouted back and the two men grappled, until\nMormont knocked Viserys bodily to the floor.\n\nHer brother drew his sword.\n\nThe bared steel shone a fearful red in the glare from the firepits. “Keep away from me!”\nViserys hissed. Ser Jorah backed off a step, and her brother climbed unsteadily to his\nfeet. He waved the sword over his head, the borrowed blade that Magister Illyrio had\ngiven him to make him seem more kingly. Dothraki were shrieking at him from all sides,\nscreaming vile curses.\n\nDany gave a wordless cry of terror. She knew what a drawn sword meant here, even if\n"
## [457] "her brother did not.\n\nHer voice made Viserys turn his head, and he saw her for the first time. “There she is,”\nhe said, smiling. He stalked toward her, slashing at the air as if to cut a path through a\nwall of enemies, though no one tried to bar his way.\n\n“The blade . . . you must not,” she begged him. “Please, Viserys. It is forbidden. Put down\nthe sword and come share my cushions. There’s drink, food . . . is it the dragon’s eggs\nyou want? You can have them, only throw away the sword.”\n\n“Do as she tells you, fool,” Ser Jorah shouted, “before you get us all killed.”\n\nViserys laughed. “They can’t kill us. They can’t shed blood here in the sacred city . . . but\nI can.” He laid the point of his sword between Daenerys’s breasts and slid it downward,\nover the curve of her belly. “I want what I came for,” he told her. “I want the crown he\npromised me. He bought you, but he never paid for you. Tell him I want what I\nbargained for, or I’m taking you back. You and the eggs both. He can keep his bloody\nfoal. I’ll cut the bastard out and leave it for him.” The sword point pushed through her\nsilks and pricked at her navel. Viserys was weeping, she saw; weeping and laughing, both\nat the same time, this man who had once been her brother.\n\nDistantly, as from far away, Dany heard her handmaid Jhiqui sobbing in fear, pleading\nthat she dared not translate, that the khal would bind her and drag her behind his horse\nall the way up the Mother of Mountains. She put her arm around the girl. “Don’t be\nafraid,” she said. “I shall tell him.”\n\nShe did not know if she had enough words, yet when she was done Khal Drogo spoke a\nfew brusque sentences in Dothraki, and she knew he understood. The sun of her life\nstepped down from the high bench. “What did he say?” the man who had been her\nbrother asked her, flinching.\n\nIt had grown so silent in the hall that she could hear the bells in Khal Drogo’s hair,\nchiming softly with each step he took. His bloodriders followed him, like three copper\nshadows. Daenerys had gone cold all over. “He says you shall have a splendid golden\ncrown that men shall tremble to behold.”\n\nViserys smiled and lowered his sword. That was the saddest thing, the thing that tore at\nher afterward . . . the way he smiled. “That was all I wanted,” he said. “What was\npromised.”\n\nWhen the sun of her life reached her, Dany slid an arm around his waist. The khal said a\nword, and his bloodriders leapt forward. Qotho seized the man who had been her\n"
## [458] "brother by the arms. Haggo shattered his wrist with a single, sharp twist of his huge\nhands. Cohollo pulled the sword from his limp fingers. Even now Viserys did not\nunderstand. “No,” he shouted, “you cannot touch me, I am the dragon, the dragon, and I\nwill be crowned!”\n\nKhal Drogo unfastened his belt. The medallions were pure gold, massive and ornate,\neach one as large as a man’s hand. He shouted a command. Cook slaves pulled a heavy\niron stew pot from the firepit, dumped the stew onto the ground, and returned the pot to\nthe flames. Drogo tossed in the belt and watched without expression as the medallions\nturned red and began to lose their shape. She could see fires dancing in the onyx of his\neyes. A slave handed him a pair of thick horsehair mittens, and he pulled them on, never\nso much as looking at the man.\n\nViserys began to scream the high, wordless scream of the coward facing death. He kicked\nand twisted, whimpered like a dog and wept like a child, but the Dothraki held him tight\nbetween them. Ser Jorah had made his way to Dany’s side. He put a hand on her\nshoulder. “Turn away, my princess, I beg you.”\n\n“No.” She folded her arms across the swell of her belly, protectively.\n\nAt the last, Viserys looked at her. “Sister, please . . . Dany, tell them . . . make\nthem . . . sweet sister . . . ”\n\nWhen the gold was half-melted and starting to run, Drogo reached into the flames,\nsnatched out the pot. “Crown!” he roared. “Here. A crown for Cart King!” And upended\nthe pot over the head of the man who had been her brother.\n\nThe sound Viserys Targaryen made when that hideous iron helmet covered his face was\nlike nothing human. His feet hammered a frantic beat against the dirt floor, slowed,\nstopped. Thick globs of molten gold dripped down onto his chest, setting the scarlet silk\nto smoldering . . . yet no drop of blood was spilled.\n\nHe was no dragon, Dany thought, curiously calm. Fire cannot kill a dragon.\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [459] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n EDDARD\nHe was walking through the crypts beneath Winterfell, as he he had walked a thousand\ntimes before. The Kings of Winter watched him pass with eyes of ice, and the direwolves\nat their feet turned their great stone heads and snarled. Last of all, he came to the tomb\nwhere his father slept, with Brandon and Lyanna beside him. “Promise me, Ned,”\nLyanna’s statue whispered. She wore a garland of pale blue roses, and her eyes wept\nblood.\n\nEddard Stark jerked upright, his heart racing, the blankets tangled around him. The\nroom was black as pitch, and someone was hammering on the door. “Lord Eddard,” a\nvoice called loudly.\n\n“A moment.” Groggy and naked, he stumbled his way across the darkened chamber.\nWhen he opened the door, he found Tomard with an upraised fist, and Cayn with a taper\nin hand. Between them stood the king’s own steward.\n\nThe man’s face might have been carved of stone, so little did it show. “My lord Hand,” he\nintoned. “His Grace the King commands your presence. At once.”\n\nSo Robert had returned from his hunt. It was long past time. “I shall need a few\nmoments to dress.” Ned left the man waiting without. Cayn helped him with his clothes;\nwhite linen tunic and grey cloak, trousers cut open down his plaster-sheathed leg, his\nbadge of office, and last of all a belt of heavy silver links. He sheathed the Valyrian\ndagger at his waist.\n\nThe Red Keep was dark and still as Cayn and Tomard escorted him across the inner\nbailey. The moon hung low over the walls, ripening toward full. On the ramparts, a\nguardsman in a gold cloak walked his rounds.\n\nThe royal apartments were in Maegor’s Holdfast, a massive square fortress that nestled\nin the heart of the Red Keep behind walls twelve feet thick and a dry moat lined with\niron spikes, a castle-within-a-castle. Ser Boros Blount guarded the far end of the bridge,\nwhite steel armor ghostly in the moonlight. Within, Ned passed two other knights of the\nKingsguard; Ser Preston Greenfield stood at the bottom of the steps, and Ser Barristan\nSelmy waited at the door of the king’s bedchamber. Three men in white cloaks, he\nthought, remembering, and a strange chill went through him. Ser Barristan’s face was as\n"
## [460] "pale as his armor. Ned had only to look at him to know that something was dreadfully\nwrong. The royal steward opened the door. “Lord Eddard Stark, the Hand of the King,”\nhe announced.\n\n“Bring him here,” Robert’s voice called, strangely thick.\n\nFires blazed in the twin hearths at either end of the bedchamber, filling the room with a\nsullen red glare. The heat within was suffocating. Robert lay across the canopied bed. At\nthe bedside hovered Grand Maester Pycelle, while Lord Renly paced restlessly before the\nshuttered windows. Servants moved back and forth, feeding logs to the fire and boiling\nwine. Cersei Lannister sat on the edge of the bed beside her husband. Her hair was\ntousled, as if from sleep, but there was nothing sleepy in her eyes. They followed Ned as\nTomard and Cayn helped him cross the room. He seemed to move very slowly, as if he\nwere still dreaming.\n\nThe king still wore his boots. Ned could see dried mud and blades of grass clinging to the\nleather where Robert’s feet stuck out beneath the blanket that covered him, A green\ndoublet lay on the floor, slashed open and discarded, the cloth crusted with red-brown\nstains. The room smelled of smoke and blood and death.\n\n“Ned,” the king whispered when he saw him. His face was pale as milk.\n“Come . . . closer.”\n\nHis men brought him close. Ned steadied himself with a hand on the bedpost. He had\nonly to look down at Robert to know how bad it was. “What . . . ?” he began, his throat\nclenched.\n\n“A boar.” Lord Renly was still in his hunting greens, his cloak spattered with blood.\n\n“A devil,” the king husked. “My own fault. Too much wine, damn me to hell. Missed my\nthrust.”\n\n“And where were the rest of you?” Ned demanded of Lord Renly. “Where was Ser\nBarristan and the Kingsguard?”\n\nRenly’s mouth twitched. “My brother commanded us to stand aside and let him take the\nboar alone.”\n\nEddard Stark lifted the blanket.\n\nThey had done what they could to close him up, but it was nowhere near enough. The\nboar must have been a fearsome thing. It had ripped the king from groin to nipple with\n"
## [461] "its tusks. The wine-soaked bandages that Grand Maester Pycelle had applied were\nalready black with blood, and the smell off the wound was hideous. Ned’s stomach\nturned. He let the blanket fall.\n\n“Stinks,” Robert said. “The stink of death, don’t think I can’t smell it. Bastard did me\ngood, eh? But I . . . I paid him back in kind, Ned.” The king’s smile was as terrible as his\nwound, his teeth red. “Drove a knife right through his eye. Ask them if I didn’t. Ask\nthem.”\n\n“Truly,” Lord Renly murmured. “We brought the carcass back with us, at my brother’s\ncommand.”\n\n“For the feast,” Robert whispered. “Now leave us. The lot of you. I need to speak with\nNed.”\n\n“Robert, my sweet lord . . . ” Cersei began.\n\n“I said leave,” Robert insisted with a hint of his old fierceness. “What part of that don’t\nyou understand, woman?”\n\nCersei gathered up her skirts and her dignity and led the way to the door. Lord Renly\nand the others followed. Grand Maester Pycelle lingered, his hands shaking as he offered\nthe king a cup of thick white liquid. “The milk of the poppy, Your Grace,” he said. “Drink.\nFor your pain.”\n\nRobert knocked the cup away with the back of his hand. “Away with you. I’ll sleep soon\nenough, old fool. Get out.”\n\nGrand Maester Pycelle gave Ned a stricken look as he shuffled from the room.\n\n“Damn you, Robert,” Ned said when they were alone. His leg was throbbing so badly he\nwas almost blind with pain. Or perhaps it was grief that fogged his eyes. He lowered\nhimself to the bed, beside his friend. “Why do you always have to be so headstrong?”\n\n“Ah, fuck you, Ned,” the king said hoarsely. “I killed the bastard, didn’t I?” A lock of\nmatted black hair fell across his eyes as he glared up at Ned. “Ought to do the same for\nyou. Can’t leave a man to hunt in peace. Ser Robar found me. Gregor’s head. Ugly\nthought. Never told the Hound. Let Cersei surprise him.” His laugh turned into a grunt\nas a spasm of pain hit him. “Gods have mercy,” he muttered, swallowing his agony. “The\ngirl. Daenerys. Only a child, you were right . . . that’s why, the girl . . . the gods sent the\nboar . . . sent to punish me . . .” The king coughed, bringing up blood. “Wrong, it was\nwrong, I . . . only a girl . . . Varys, Littlefinger, even my brother . . . worthless . . . no one\n"
## [462] "to tell me no but you, Ned . . . only you . . . ” He lifted his hand, the gesture pained and\nfeeble. “Paper and ink. There, on the table. Write what I tell you.”\n\nNed smoothed the paper out across his knee and took up the quill. “At your command,\nYour Grace.”\n\n“This is the will and word of Robert of House Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of\nthe Andals and all the rest—put in the damn titles, you know how it goes. I do hereby\ncommand Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King, to serve as\nLord Regent and Protector of the Realm upon my . . . upon my death . . . to rule in\nmy . . . in my stead, until my son Joffrey does come of age . . . ”\n\n“Robert . . . ” Joffrey is not your son, he wanted to say, but the words would not come.\nThe agony was written too plainly across Robert’s face; he could not hurt him more. So\nNed bent his head and wrote, but where the king had said “my son Joffrey,” he scrawled\n“my heir” instead. The deceit made him feel soiled. The lies we tell for love, he thought.\nMay the gods forgive me. “What else would you have me say?”\n\n“Say . . . whatever you need to. Protect and defend, gods old and new, you have the\nwords. Write. I’ll sign it. You give it to the council when I’m dead.”\n\n“Robert,” Ned said in a voice thick with grief, “you must not do this. Don’t die on me.\nThe realm needs you.”\n\nRobert took his hand, fingers squeezing hard. “You are . . . such a bad liar, Ned Stark,”\nhe said through his pain. “The realm . . . the realm knows . . . what a wretched king I’ve\nbeen. Bad as Aerys, the gods spare me.”\n\n“No,” Ned told his dying friend, “not so bad as Aerys, Your Grace. Not near so bad as\nAerys.”\n\nRobert managed a weak red smile. “At the least, they will say . . . this last thing . . . this I\ndid right. You won’t fail me. You’ll rule now. You’ll hate it, worse than I did . . . but you’ll\ndo well. Are you done with the scribbling?”\n\n“Yes, Your Grace.” Ned offered Robert the paper. The king scrawled his signature\nblindly, leaving a smear of blood across the letter. “The seal should be witnessed.”\n\n“Serve the boar at my funeral feast,” Robert rasped. “Apple in its mouth, skin seared\ncrisp. Eat the bastard. Don’t care if you choke on him. Promise me, Ned.”\n\n“I promise.” Promise me, Ned, Lyanna’s voice echoed.\n"
## [463] "“The girl,” the king said. “Daenerys. Let her live. If you can, if it . . . not too late . . . talk\nto them . . . Varys, Littlefinger . . . don’t let them kill her. And help my son, Ned. Make\nhim be . . . better than me.” He winced. “Gods have mercy.”\n\n“They will, my friend,” Ned said. “They will.”\n\nThe king closed his eyes and seemed to relax. “Killed by a pig,” he muttered. “Ought to\nlaugh, but it hurts too much.”\n\nNed was not laughing. “Shall I call them back?”\n\nRobert gave a weak nod. “As you will. Gods, why is it so cold in here?”\n\nThe servants rushed back in and hurried to feed the fires. The queen had gone; that was\nsome small relief, at least. If she had any sense, Cersei would take her children and fly\nbefore the break of day, Ned thought. She had lingered too long already.\n\nKing Robert did not seem to miss her. He bid his brother Renly and Grand Maester\nPycelle to stand in witness as he pressed his seal into the hot yellow wax that Ned had\ndripped upon his letter. “Now give me something for the pain and let me die.”\n\nHurriedly Grand Maester Pycelle mixed him another draught of the milk of the poppy.\nThis time the king drank deeply. His black beard was beaded with thick white droplets\nwhen he threw the empty cup aside. “Will I dream?”\n\nNed gave him his answer. “You will, my lord.”\n\n“Good,” he said, smiling. “I will give Lyanna your love, Ned. Take care of my children for\nme.”\n\nThe words twisted in Ned’s belly like a knife. For a moment he was at a loss. He could\nnot bring himself to lie. Then he remembered the bastards: little Barra at her mother’s\nbreast, Mya in the Vale, Gendry at his forge, and all the others. “I shall . . . guard your\nchildren as if they were my own,” he said slowly.\n\nRobert nodded and closed his eyes. Ned watched his old friend sag softly into the pillows\nas the milk of the poppy washed the pain from his face. Sleep took him.\n\nHeavy chains jangled softly as Grand Maester Pycelle came up to Ned. “I will do all in\nmy power, my lord, but the wound has mortified. It took them two days to get him back.\n"
## [464] "By the time I saw him, it was too late. I can lessen His Grace’s suffering, but only the\ngods can heal him now.”\n\n“How long?” Ned asked.\n\n“By rights, he should be dead already. I have never seen a man cling to life so fiercely.”\n\n“My brother was always strong,” Lord Renly said. “Not wise, perhaps, but strong.” In the\nsweltering heat of the bedchamber, his brow was slick with sweat. He might have been\nRobert’s ghost as he stood there, young and dark and handsome. “He slew the boar. His\nentrails were sliding from his belly, yet somehow he slew the boar.” His voice was full of\nwonder.\n\n“Robert was never a man to leave the battleground so long as a foe remained standing,”\nNed told him.\n\nOutside the door, Ser Barristan Selmy still guarded the tower stairs. “Maester Pycelle\nhas given Robert the milk of the poppy,” Ned told him. “See that no one disturbs his rest\nwithout leave from me.”\n\n“It shall be as you command, my lord.” Ser Barristan seemed old beyond his years. “I\nhave failed my sacred trust.”\n\n“Even the truest knight cannot protect a king against himself,” Ned said. “Robert loved\nto hunt boar. I have seen him take a thousand of them.” He would stand his ground\nwithout flinching, his legs braced, the great spear in his hands, and as often as not he\nwould curse the boar as it charged, and wait until the last possible second, until it was\nalmost on him, before he killed it with a single sure and savage thrust. “No one could\nknow this one would be his death.”\n\n“You are kind to say so, Lord Eddard.”\n\n“The king himself said as much. He blamed the wine.”\n\nThe white-haired knight gave a weary nod. “His Grace was reeling in his saddle by the\ntime we flushed the boar from his lair, yet he commanded us all to stand aside.”\n\n“I wonder, Ser Barristan,” asked Varys, so quietly, “who gave the king this wine?”\n\nNed had not heard the eunuch approach, but when he looked around, there he stood. He\nwore a black velvet robe that brushed the floor, and his face was freshly powdered.\n"
## [465] "“The wine was from the king’s own skin,” Ser Barristan said.\n\n“Only one skin? Hunting is such thirsty work.”\n\n“I did not keep count. More than one, for a certainty. His squire would fetch him a fresh\nskin whenever he required it.”\n\n“Such a dutiful boy,” said Varys, “to make certain His Grace did not lack for\nrefreshment.”\n\nNed had a bitter taste in his mouth. He recalled the two fair-haired boys Robert had sent\nchasing after a breastplate stretcher. The king had told everyone the tale that night at the\nfeast, laughing until he shook. “Which squire?”\n\n“The elder,” said Ser Barristan. “Lancel.”\n\n“I know the lad well,” said Varys. “A stalwart boy, Ser Kevan Lannister’s son, nephew to\nLord Tywin and cousin to the queen. I hope the dear sweet lad does not blame himself.\nChildren are so vulnerable in the innocence of their youth, how well do I remember.”\n\nCertainly Varys had once been young. Ned doubted that he had ever been innocent. “You\nmention children. Robert had a change of heart concerning Daenerys Targaryen.\nWhatever arrangements you made, I want unmade. At once.”\n\n“Alas,” said Varys. “At once may be too late. I fear those birds have flown. But I shall do\nwhat I can, my lord. With your leave.” He bowed and vanished down the steps, his soft-\nsoled slippers whispering against the stone as he made his descent.\n\nCayn and Tomard were helping Ned across the bridge when Lord Renly emerged from\nMaegor’s Holdfast. “Lord Eddard,” he called after Ned, “a moment, if you would be so\nkind.”\n\nNed stopped. “As you wish.”\n\nRenly walked to his side. “Send your men away.” They met in the center of the bridge,\nthe dry moat beneath them. Moonlight silvered the cruel edges of the spikes that lined\nits bed.\n\nNed gestured. Tomard and Cayn bowed their heads and backed away respectfully. Lord\nRenly glanced warily at Ser Boros on the far end of the span, at Ser Preston in the\ndoorway behind them. “That letter.” He leaned close. “Was it the regency? Has my\n"
## [466] "brother named you Protector?” He did not wait for a reply. “My lord, I have thirty men\nin my personal guard, and other friends beside, knights and lords. Give me an hour, and\nI can put a hundred swords in your hand.”\n\n“And what should I do with a hundred swords, my lord?”\n\n“Strike! Now, while the castle sleeps.” Renly looked back at Ser Boros again and dropped\nhis voice to an urgent whisper. “We must get Joffrey away from his mother and take him\nin hand. Protector or no, the man who holds the king holds the kingdom. We should\nseize Myrcella and Tommen as well. Once we have her children, Cersei will not dare\noppose us. The council will confirm you as Lord Protector and make Joffrey your ward.”\n\nNed regarded him coldly. “Robert is not dead yet. The gods may spare him. If not, I shall\nconvene the council to hear his final words and consider the matter of the succession,\nbut I will not dishonor his last hours on earth by shedding blood in his halls and\ndragging frightened children from their beds.”\n\nLord Renly took a step back, taut as a bowstring. “Every moment you delay gives Cersei\nanother moment to prepare. By the time Robert dies, it may be too late . . . for both of\nus.”\n\n“Then we should pray that Robert does not die.”\n\n“Small chance of that,” said Renly.\n\n“Sometimes the gods are merciful.”\n\n“The Lannisters are not.” Lord Renly turned away and went back across the moat, to the\ntower where his brother lay dying.\n\nBy the time Ned returned to his chambers, he felt weary and heartsick, yet there was no\nquestion of his going back to sleep, not now. When you play the game of thrones, you\nwin or you die, Cersei Lannister had told him in the godswood. He found himself\nwondering if he had done the right thing by refusing Lord Renly’s offer. He had no taste\nfor these intrigues, and there was no honor in threatening children, and yet . . . if Cersei\nelected to fight rather than flee, he might well have need of Renly’s hundred swords, and\nmore besides.\n\n“I want Littlefinger,” he told Cayn. “If he’s not in his chambers, take as many men as you\nneed and search every winesink and whorehouse in King’s Landing until you find him.\nBring him to me before break of day.” Cayn bowed and took his leave, and Ned turned to\nTomard. “The Wind Witch sails on the evening tide. Have you chosen the escort?”\n"
## [467] "“Ten men, with Porther in command.”\n\n“Twenty, and you will command,” Ned said. Porther was a brave man, but headstrong.\nHe wanted someone more solid and sensible to keep watch over his daughters.\n\n“As you wish, m’lord,” Tom said. “Can’t say I’ll be sad to see the back of this place. I miss\nthe wife.”\n\n“You will pass near Dragonstone when you turn north. I need you to deliver a letter for\nme.”\n\nTom looked apprehensive. “To Dragonstone, m’lord?” The island fortress of House\nTargaryen had a sinister repute.\n\n“Tell Captain Qos to hoist my banner as soon as he comes in sight of the island. They\nmay be wary of unexpected visitors. If he is reluctant, offer him whatever it takes. I will\ngive you a letter to place into the hand of Lord Stannis Baratheon. No one else. Not his\nsteward, nor the captain of his guard, nor his lady wife, but only Lord Stannis himself.”\n\n“As you command, m’lord.”\n\nWhen Tomard had left him, Lord Eddard Stark sat staring at the flame of the candle that\nburned beside him on the table. For a moment his grief overwhelmed him. He wanted\nnothing so much as to seek out the godswood, to kneel before the heart tree and pray for\nthe life of Robert Baratheon, who had been more than a brother to him. Men would\nwhisper afterward that Eddard Stark had betrayed his king’s friendship and disinherited\nhis sons; he could only hope that the gods would know better, and that Robert would\nlearn the truth of it in the land beyond the grave.\n\nNed took out the king’s last letter. A roll of crisp white parchment sealed with golden\nwax, a few short words and a smear of blood. How small the difference between victory\nand defeat, between life and death.\n\nHe drew out a fresh sheet of paper and dipped his quill in the inkpot. To His Grace,\nStannis of the House Baratheon, he wrote. By the time you receive this letter, your\nbrother Robert, our King these past fifteen years, will be dead. He was savaged by a\nboar whilst hunting in the kingswood . . .\n\nThe letters seemed to writhe and twist on the paper as his hand trailed to a stop. Lord\nTywin and Ser Jaime were not men to suffer disgrace meekly; they would fight rather\nthan flee. No doubt Lord Stannis was wary, after the murder of Jon Arryn, but it was\n"
## [468] "imperative that he sail for King’s Landing at once with all his power, before the\nLannisters could march.\n\nNed chose each word with care. When he was done, he signed the letter Eddard Stark,\nLord of Winterfell, Hand of the King, and Protector of the Realm, blotted the paper,\nfolded it twice, and melted the sealing wax over the candle flame.\n\nHis regency would be a short one, he reflected as the wax softened. The new king would\nchoose his own Hand. Ned would be free to go home. The thought of Winterfell brought\na wan smile to his face. He wanted to hear Bran’s laughter once more, to go hawking\nwith Robb, to watch Rickon at play. He wanted to drift off to a dreamless sleep in his\nown bed with his arms wrapped tight around his lady, Catelyn.\n\nCayn returned as he was pressing the direwolf seal down into the soft white wax.\nDesmond was with him, and between them Littlefinger. Ned thanked his guards and\nsent them away.\n\nLord Petyr was clad in a blue velvet tunic with puffed sleeves, his silvery cape patterned\nwith mockingbirds. “I suppose congratulations are in order,” he said as he seated\nhimself.\n\nNed scowled. “The king lies wounded and near to death.”\n\n“I know,” Littlefinger said. “I also know that Robert has named you Protector of the\nRealm.”\n\nNed’s eyes flicked to the king’s letter on the table beside him, its seal unbroken. “And\nhow is it you know that, my lord?”\n\n“Varys hinted as much,” Littlefinger said, “and you have just confirmed it.”\n\nNed’s mouth twisted in anger. “Damn Varys and his little birds. Catelyn spoke truly, the\nman has some black art. I do not trust him.”\n\n“Excellent. You’re learning.” Littlefinger leaned forward. “Yet I’ll wager you did not drag\nme here in the black of night to discuss the eunuch.”\n\n“No,” Ned admitted. “I know the secret Jon Arryn was murdered to protect. Robert will\nleave no trueborn son behind him. Joffrey and Tommen are Jaime Lannister’s bastards,\nborn of his incestuous union with the queen.”\n\nLittlefinger lifted an eyebrow. “Shocking,” he said in a tone that suggested he was not\n"
## [469] "shocked at all. “The girl as well? No doubt. So when the king dies . . . ”\n\n“The throne by rights passes to Lord Stannis, the elder of Robert’s two brothers.”\n\nLord Petyr stroked his pointed beard as he considered the matter. “So it would seem.\nUnless . . . ”\n\n“Unless, my lord? There is no seeming to this. Stannis is the heir. Nothing can change\nthat.”\n\n“Stannis cannot take the throne without your help. If you’re wise, you’ll make certain\nJoffrey succeeds.”\n\nNed gave him a stony stare. “Have you no shred of honor?”\n\n“Oh, a shred, surely,” Littlefinger replied negligently. “Hear me out. Stannis is no friend\nof yours, nor of mine. Even his brothers can scarcely stomach him. The man is iron, hard\nand unyielding. He’ll give us a new Hand and a new council, for a certainty. No doubt\nhe’ll thank you for handing him the crown, but he won’t love you for it. And his ascent\nwill mean war. Stannis cannot rest easy on the throne until Cersei and her bastards are\ndead. Do you think Lord Tywin will sit idly while his daughter’s head is measured for a\nspike? Casterly Rock will rise, and not alone. Robert found it in him to pardon men who\nserved King Aerys, so long as they did him fealty. Stannis is less forgiving. He will not\nhave forgotten the siege of Storm’s End, and the Lords Tyrell and Redwyne dare not.\nEvery man who fought beneath the dragon banner or rose with Balon Greyjoy will have\ngood cause to fear. Seat Stannis on the Iron Throne and I promise you, the realm will\nbleed.\n\n“Now look at the other side of the coin. Joffrey is but twelve, and Robert gave you the\nregency, my lord. You are the Hand of the King and Protector of the Realm. The power is\nyours, Lord Stark. All you need do is reach out and take it. Make your peace with the\nLannisters. Release the Imp. Wed Joffrey to your Sansa. Wed your younger girl to Prince\nTommen, and your heir to Myrcella. It will be four years before Joffrey comes of age. By\nthen he will look to you as a second father, and if not, well . . . four years is a good long\nwhile, my lord. Long enough to dispose of Lord Stannis. Then, should Joffrey prove\ntroublesome, we can reveal his little secret and put Lord Renly on the throne.”\n\n“We?” Ned repeated.\n\nLittlefinger gave a shrug. “You’ll need someone to share your burdens. I assure you, my\nprice would be modest.”\n"
## [470] "“Your price.” Ned’s voice was ice. “Lord Baelish, what you suggest is treason.”\n\n“Only if we lose.”\n\n“You forget,” Ned told him. “You forget Jon Arryn. You forget Jory Cassel. And you\nforget this.” He drew the dagger and laid it on the table between them; a length of\ndragonbone and Valyrian steel, as sharp as the difference between right and wrong,\nbetween true and false, between life and death. “They sent a man to cut my son’s throat,\nLord Baelish.”\n\nLittlefinger sighed. “I fear I did forget, my lord. Pray forgive me. For a moment I did not\nremember that I was talking to a Stark.” His mouth quirked. “So it will be Stannis, and\nwar?”\n\n“It is not a choice. Stannis is the heir.”\n\n“Far be it from me to dispute the Lord Protector. What would you have of me, then? Not\nmy wisdom, for a certainty.”\n\n“I shall do my best to forget your . . . wisdom,” Ned said with distaste. “I called you here\nto ask for the help you promised Catelyn. This is a perilous hour for all of us. Robert has\nnamed me Protector, true enough, but in the eyes of the world, Joffrey is still his son and\nheir. The queen has a dozen knights and a hundred men-at-arms who will do whatever\nshe commands . . . enough to overwhelm what remains of my own household guard.\nAnd for all I know, her brother Jaime may be riding for King’s Landing even as we\nspeak, with a Lannister host at his back.”\n\n“And you without an army.” Littlefinger toyed with the dagger on the table, turning it\nslowly with a finger. “There is small love lost between Lord Renly and the Lannisters.\nBronze Yohn Royce, Ser Balon Swann, Ser Loras, Lady Tanda, the Redwyne\ntwins . . . each of them has a retinue of knights and sworn swords here at court.”\n\n“Renly has thirty men in his personal guard, the rest even fewer. It is not enough, even if\nI could be certain that all of them will choose to give me their allegiance. I must have the\ngold cloaks. The City Watch is two thousand strong, sworn to defend the castle, the city,\nand the king’s peace.”\n\n“Ah, but when the queen proclaims one king and the Hand another, whose peace do they\nprotect?” Lord Petyr flicked at the dagger with his finger, setting it spinning in place.\nRound and round it went, wobbling as it turned. When at last it slowed to a stop, the\nblade pointed at Littlefinger. “Why, there’s your answer,” he said, smiling. “They follow\nthe man who pays them.” He leaned back and looked Ned full in the face, his grey-green\n"
## [471] "eyes bright with mockery. “You wear your honor like a suit of armor, Stark. You think it\nkeeps you safe, but all it does is weigh you down and make it hard for you to move. Look\nat you now. You know why you summoned me here. You know what you want to ask me\nto do. You know it has to be done . . . but it’s not honorable, so the words stick in your\nthroat.”\n\nNed’s neck was rigid with tension. For a moment he was so angry that he did not trust\nhimself to speak.\n\nLittlefinger laughed. “I ought to make you say it, but that would be cruel . . . so have no\nfear, my good lord. For the sake of the love I bear for Catelyn, I will go to Janos Slynt this\nvery hour and make certain that the City Watch is yours. Six thousand gold pieces\nshould do it. A third for the Commander, a third for the officers, a third for the men. We\nmight be able to buy them for half that much, but I prefer not to take chances.” Smiling,\nhe plucked up the dagger and offered it to Ned, hilt first.\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [472] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n JON\nJon was breaking his fast on applecakes and blood sausage when Samwell Tarly plopped\nhimself down on the bench. “I’ve been summoned to the sept,” Sam said in an excited\nwhisper. “They’re passing me out of training. I’m to be made a brother with the rest of\nyou. Can you believe it?”\n\n“No, truly?”\n\n“Truly. I’m to assist Maester Aemon with the library and the birds. He needs someone\nwho can read and write letters.”\n\n“You’ll do well at that,” Jon said, smiling.\n\nSam glanced about anxiously. “Is it time to go? I shouldn’t be late, they might change\ntheir minds.” He was fairly bouncing as they crossed the weed-strewn courtyard. The\nday was warm and sunny. Rivulets of water trickled down the sides of the Wall, so the ice\nseemed to sparkle and shine.\n\nInside the sept, the great crystal caught the morning light as it streamed through the\nsouth-facing window and spread it in a rainbow on the altar. Pyp’s mouth dropped open\nwhen he caught sight of Sam, and Toad poked Grenn in the ribs, but no one dared say a\nword. Septon Celladar was swinging a censer, filling the air with fragrant incense that\nreminded Jon of Lady Stark’s little sept in Winterfell. For once the septon seemed sober.\n\nThe high officers arrived in a body; Maester Aemon leaning on Clydas, Ser Alliser cold-\neyed and grim, Lord Commander Mormont resplendent in a black wool doublet with\nsilvered bearclaw fastenings. Behind them came the senior members of the three orders:\nred-faced Bowen Marsh the Lord Steward, First Builder Othell Yarwyck, and Ser Jaremy\nRykker, who commanded the rangers in the absence of Benjen Stark.\n\nMormont stood before the altar, the rainbow shining on his broad bald head. “You came\nto us outlaws,” he began, “poachers, rapers, debtors, killers, and thieves. You came to us\nchildren. You came to us alone, in chains, with neither friends nor honor. You came to us\nrich, and you came to us poor. Some of you bear the names of proud houses. Others have\nonly bastards’ names, or no names at all. It makes no matter. All that is past now. On the\nWall, we are all one house.\n"
## [473] "“At evenfall, as the sun sets and we face the gathering night, you shall take your vows.\nFrom that moment, you will be a Sworn Brother of the Night’s Watch. Your crimes will\nbe washed away, your debts forgiven. So too you must wash away your former loyalties,\nput aside your grudges, forget old wrongs and old loves alike. Here you begin anew.\n\n“A man of the Night’s Watch lives his life for the realm. Not for a king, nor a lord, nor the\nhonor of this house or that house, neither for gold nor glory nor a woman’s love, but for\nthe realm, and all the people in it. A man of the Night’s Watch takes no wife and fathers\nno sons. Our wife is duty. Our mistress is honor. And you are the only sons we shall ever\nknow.\n\n“You have learned the words of the vow. Think carefully before you say them, for once\nyou have taken the black, there is no turning back. The penalty for desertion is death.”\nThe Old Bear paused for a moment before he said, “Are there any among you who wish\nto leave our company? If so, go now, and no one shall think the less of you.”\n\nNo one moved.\n\n“Well and good,” said Mormont. “You may take your vows here at evenfall, before\nSepton Celladar and the first of your order. Do any of you keep to the old gods?”\n\nJon stood. “I do, my lord.”\n\n“I expect you will want to say your words before a heart tree, as your uncle did,”\nMormont said.\n\n“Yes, my lord,” Jon said. The gods of the sept had nothing to do with him; the blood of\nthe First Men flowed in the veins of the Starks.\n\nHe heard Grenn whispering behind him. “There’s no godswood here. Is there? I never\nsaw a godswood.”\n\n“You wouldn’t see a herd of aurochs until they trampled you into the snow,” Pyp\nwhispered back.\n\n“I would so,” Grenn insisted. “I’d see them a long way off.”\n\nMormont himself confirmed Grenn’s doubts. “Castle Black has no need of a godswood.\nBeyond the Wall the haunted forest stands as it stood in the Dawn Age, long before the\nAndals brought the Seven across the narrow sea. You will find a grove of weirwoods half\na league from this spot, and mayhap your gods as well.”\n"
## [474] "“My lord.” The voice made Jon glance back in surprise. Samwell Tarly was on his feet.\nThe fat boy wiped his sweaty palms against his tunic. “Might I . . . might I go as well? To\nsay my words at this heart tree?”\n\n“Does House Tarly keep the old gods too?” Mormont asked.\n\n“No, my lord,” Sam replied in a thin, nervous voice. The high officers frightened him,\nJon knew, the Old Bear most of all. “I was named in the light of the Seven at the sept on\nHorn Hill, as my father was, and his father, and all the Tarlys for a thousand years.”\n\n“Why would you forsake the gods of your father and your House?” wondered Ser Jaremy\nRykker.\n\n“The Night’s Watch is my House now,” Sam said. “The Seven have never answered my\nprayers. Perhaps the old gods will.”\n\n“As you wish, boy,” Mormont said. Sam took his seat again, as did Jon. “We have placed\neach of you in an order, as befits our need and your own strengths and skills.” Bowen\nMarsh stepped forward and handed him a paper. The Lord Commander unrolled it and\nbegan to read. “Haider, to the builders,” he began. Haider gave a stiff nod of approval.\n“Grenn, to the rangers. Albett, to the builders. Pypar, to the rangers.” Pyp looked over at\nJon and wiggled his ears. “Samwell, to the stewards.” Sam sagged with relief, mopping at\nhis brow with,a scrap of silk. “Matthar, to the rangers. Dareon, to the stewards. Todder,\nto the rangers. Jon, to the stewards.”\n\nThe stewards? For a moment Jon could not believe what he had heard. Mormont must\nhave read it wrong. He started to rise, to open his mouth, to tell them there had been a\nmistake . . . and then he saw Ser Alliser studying him, eyes shiny as two flakes of\nobsidian, and he knew.\n\nThe Old Bear rolled up the paper. “Your firsts will instruct you in your duties. May all the\ngods preserve you, brothers.” The Lord Commander favored them with a half bow, and\ntook his leave. Ser Alliser went with him, a thin smile on his face. Jon had never seen the\nmaster-at-arms took quite so happy.\n\n“Rangers with me,” Ser Jaremy Rykker called when they were gone. Pyp was staring at\nJon as he got slowly to his feet. His ears were red. Grenn, grinning broadly, did not seem\nto realize that anything was amiss. Matt and Toad fell in beside them, and they followed\nSer Jaremy from the sept.\n\n“Builders,” announced lantern-jawed Othell Yarwyck. Haider and Albett trailed out after\n"
## [475] "him.\n\nJon looked around him in sick disbelief. Maester Aemon’s blind eyes were raised toward\nthe light he could not see. The septon was arranging crystals on the altar. Only Sam and\nDarcon remained on the benches; a fat boy, a singer . . . and him.\n\nLord Steward Bowen Marsh rubbed his plump hands together. “Samwell, you will assist\nMaester Aemon in the rookery and library. Chett is going to the kennels, to help with the\nhounds. You shall have his cell, so as to be close to the maester night and day. I trust you\nwill take good care of him. He is very old and very precious to us.\n\n“Dareon, I am told that you sang at many a high lord’s table and shared their meat and\nmead. We are sending you to Eastwatch. It may be your palate will be some help to\nCotter Pyke when merchant galleys come trading. We are paying too dear for salt beef\nand pickled fish, and the quality of the olive oil we’re getting has been frightful, Present\nyourself to Borcas when you arrive, he will keep you busy between ships.”\n\nMarsh turned his smile on Jon. “Lord Commander Mormont has requested you for his\npersonal steward, Jon. You’ll sleep in a cell beneath his chambers, in the Lord\nCommander’s tower.”\n\n“And what will my duties be?” Jon asked sharply. “Will I serve the Lord Commander’s\nmeals, help him fasten his clothes, fetch hot water for his bath?”\n\n“Certainly.” Marsh frowned at Jon’s tone. “And you will run his messages, keep a fire\nburning in his chambers, change his sheets and blankets daily, and do all else that the\nLord Commander might require of you.”\n\n“Do you take me for a servant?”\n\n“No,” Maester Aemon said, from the back of the sept. Clydas helped him stand. “We took\nyou for a man of the Night’s Watch . . . but perhaps we were wrong in that.”\n\nIt was all Jon could do to stop himself from walking out. Was he supposed to churn\nbutter and sew doublets like a girl for the rest of his days? “May I go?” he asked stiffly.\n\n“As you wish,” Bowen Marsh responded.\n\nDareon and Sam left with him. They descended to the yard in silence. Outside, Jon\nlooked up at the Wall shining in the sun, the melting ice creeping down its side in a\nhundred thin fingers. Jon’s rage was such that he would have smashed it all in an\ninstant, and the world be damned.\n"
## [476] "“Jon,” Samwell Tarly said excitedly. “Wait. Don’t you see what they’re doing?”\n\nJon turned on him in a fury. “I see Ser Alliser’s bloody hand, that’s all I see. He wanted\nto shame me, and he has.”\n\nDareon gave him a look. “The stewards are fine for the likes of you and me, Sam, but not\nfor Lord Snow.”\n\n“I’m a better swordsman and a better rider than any of you,” Jon blazed back. “It’s not\nfair!”\n\n“Fair?” Dareon sneered. “The girl was waiting for me, naked as the day she was born.\nShe pulled me through the window, and you talk to me of fair?” He walked off.\n\n“There is no shame in being a steward,” Sam said.\n\n“Do you think I want to spend the rest of my life washing an old man’s smallclothes?”\n\n“The old man is Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch,” Sam reminded him. “You’ll be\nwith him day and night. Yes, you’ll pour his wine and see that his bed linen is fresh, but\nyou’ll also take his letters, attend him at meetings, squire for him in battle. You’ll be as\nclose to him as his shadow. You’ll know everything, be a part of everything . . . and the\nLord Steward said Mormont asked for you himself!\n\n“When I was little, my father used to insist that I attend him in the audience chamber\nwhenever he held court. When he rode to Highgarden to bend his knee to Lord Tyrell, he\nmade me come. Later, though, he started to take Dickon and leave me at home, and he\nno longer cared whether I sat through his audiences, so long as Dickon was there. He\nwanted his heir at his side, don’t you see? To watch and listen and learn from all he did.\nI’ll wager that’s why Lord Mormont requested you, Jon. What else could it be? He wants\nto groom you for command!”\n\nJon was taken aback. It was true, Lord Eddard had often made Robb part of his councils\nback at Winterfell. Could Sam be right? Even a bastard could rise high in the Night’s\nWatch, they said. “I never asked for this,” he said stubbornly.\n\n“None of us are here for asking,” Sam reminded him.\n\nAnd suddenly Jon Snow was ashamed.\n"
## [477] "Craven or not, Samwell Tarly had found the courage to accept his fate like a man. On the\nWall, a man gets only what he earns, Benjen Stark had said the last night Jon had seen\nhim alive. You’re no ranger, Jon, only a green boy with the smell of summer still on\nyou. He’d heard it said that bastards grow up faster than other children; on the Wall,\nyou grew up or you died.\n\nJon let out a deep sigh. “You have the right of it. I was acting the boy.”\n\n“Then you’ll stay and say your words with me?”\n\n“The old gods will be expecting us.” He made himself smile.\n\nThey set out late that afternoon. The Wall had no gates as such, neither here at Castle\nBlack nor anywhere along its three hundred miles. They led their horses down a narrow\ntunnel cut through the ice, cold dark walls pressing in around them as the passage\ntwisted and turned. Three times their way was blocked by iron bars, and they had to stop\nwhile Bowen Marsh drew out his keys and unlocked the massive chains that secured\nthem. Jon could sense the vast weight pressing down on him as he waited behind the\nLord Steward. The air was colder than a tomb, and more still. He felt a strange relief\nwhen they reemerged into the afternoon light on the north side of the Wall.\n\nSam blinked at the sudden glare and looked around apprehensively. “The\nwildlings . . . they wouldn’t . . . they’d never dare come this close to the Wall. Would\nthey?”\n\n“They never have.” Jon climbed into his saddle. When Bowen Marsh and their ranger\nescort had mounted, Jon put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. Ghost came loping\nout of the tunnel.\n\nThe Lord Steward’s garron whickered and backed away from the direwolf. “Do you mean\nto take that beast?”\n\n“Yes, my lord,” Jon said. Ghost’s head lifted. He seemed to taste the air. In the blink of\nan eye he was off, racing across the broad, weed-choked field to vanish in the trees.\n\nOnce they had entered the forest, they were in a different world. Jon had often hunted\nwith his father and Jory and his brother Robb. He knew the wolfswood around\nWinterfell as well as any man. The haunted forest was much the same, and yet the feel of\nit was very different.\n\nPerhaps it was all in the knowing. They had ridden past the end of the world; somehow\nthat changed everything. Every shadow seemed darker, every sound more ominous. The\n"
## [478] "trees pressed close and shut out the light of the setting sun. A thin crust of snow cracked\nbeneath the hooves of their horses, with a sound like breaking bones. When the wind set\nthe leaves to rustling, it was like a chilly finger tracing a path up Jon’s spine. The Wall\nwas at their backs, and only the gods knew what lay ahead.\n\nThe sun was sinking below the trees when they reached their destination, a small\nclearing in the deep of the wood where nine weirwoods grew in a rough circle. Jon drew\nin a breath, and he saw Sam Tarly staring. Even in the wolfswood, you never found more\nthan two or three of the white trees growing together; a grove of nine was unheard of.\nThe forest floor was carpeted with fallen leaves, bloodred on top, black rot beneath. The\nwide smooth trunks were bone pale, and nine faces stared inward. The dried sap that\ncrusted in the eyes was red and hard as ruby. Bowen Marsh commanded them to leave\ntheir horses outside the circle. “This is a sacred place, we will not defile it.”\n\nWhen they entered the grove, Samwell Tarly turned slowly looking at each face in turn.\nNo two were quite alike. “They’re watching us,” he whispered. “The old gods.”\n\n“Yes.” Jon knelt, and Sam knelt beside him.\n\nThey said the words together, as the last light faded in the west and grey day became\nblack night.\n\n“Hear my words, and bear witness to my vow,” they recited, their voices filling the twilit\ngrove. “Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall\ntake no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory.\nI shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the\nwalls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn\nthat wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my life and\nhonor to the Night’s Watch, for this night and all the nights to come.”\n\nThe woods fell silent. “You knelt as boys,” Bowen Marsh intoned solemnly. “Rise now as\nmen of the Night’s Watch.”\n\nJon held out a hand to pull Sam back to his feet. The rangers gathered round to offer\nsmiles and congratulations, all but the gnarled old forester Dywen. “Best we be starting\nback, m’lord,” he said to Bowen Marsh. “Dark’s falling, and there’s something in the\nsmell o’ the night that I mislike.”\n\nAnd suddenly Ghost was back, stalking softly between two weirwoods. White fur and red\neyes, Jon realized, disquieted. Like the trees . . .\n\nThe wolf had something in his jaws. Something black. “What’s he got there?” asked\n"
## [479] "Bowen Marsh, frowning.\n\n“To me, Ghost.” Jon knelt. “Bring it here.”\n\nThe direwolf trotted to him. Jon heard Samwell Tarly’s sharp intake of breath.\n\n“Gods be good,” Dywen muttered. “That’s a hand.”\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [480] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n EDDARD\nThe grey light of dawn was streaming through his window when the thunder of\nhoofbeats awoke Eddard Stark from his brief, exhausted sleep. He lifted his head from\nthe table to look down into the yard. Below, men in mail and leather and crimson cloaks\nwere making the morning ring to the sound of swords, and riding down mock warriors\nstuffed with straw. Ned watched Sandor Clegane gallop across the hard-packed ground\nto drive an iron-tipped lance through a dummy’s head. Canvas ripped and straw\nexploded as Lannister guardsmen joked and cursed.\n\nIs this brave show for my benefit? he wondered. If so, Cersei was a greater fool than\nhe’d imagined. Damn her, he thought, why is the woman not fled? I have given her\nchance after chance . . .\n\nThe morning was overcast and grim. Ned broke his fast with his daughters and Septa\nMordane. Sansa, still disconsolate, stared sullenly at her food and refused to eat, but\nArya wolfed down everything that was set in front of her. “Syrio says we have time for\none last lesson before we take ship this evening,” she said. “Can I, Father? All my things\nare packed.”\n\n“A short lesson, and make certain you leave yourself time to bathe and change. I want\nyou ready to leave by midday, is that understood?”\n\n“By midday,” Arya said.\n\nSansa looked up from her food. “If she can have a dancing lesson, why won’t you let me\nsay farewell to Prince Joffrey?”\n\n“I would gladly go with her, Lord Eddard,” Septa Mordane offered. “There would be no\nquestion of her missing the ship.”\n\n“It would not be wise for you to go to Joffrey right now, Sansa. I’m sorry.”\n\nSansa’s eyes filled with tears. “But why?”\n\n“Sansa, your lord father knows best,” Septa Mordane said. “You are not to question his\ndecisions.”\n"
## [481] "“It’s not fair!” Sansa pushed back from her table, knocked over her chair, and ran\nweeping from the solar.\n\nSepta Mordane rose, but Ned gestured her back to her seat. “Let her go, Septa. I will try\nto make her understand when we are all safely back in Winterfell.” The septa bowed her\nhead and sat down to finish her breakfast.\n\nIt was an hour later when Grand Maester Pycelle came to Eddard Stark in his solar. His\nshoulders slumped, as if the weight of the great maester’s chain around his neck had\nbecome too great to bear. “My lord,” he said, “King Robert is gone. The gods give him\nrest.”\n\n“No,” Ned answered. “He hated rest. The gods give him love and laughter, and the joy of\nrighteous battle.” It was strange how empty he felt. He had been expecting the visit, and\nyet with those words, something died within him. He would have given all his titles for\nthe freedom to weep . . . but he was Robert’s Hand, and the hour he dreaded had come.\n“Be so good as to summon the members of the council here to my solar,” he told Pycelle.\nThe Tower of the Hand was as secure as he and Tomard could make it; he could not say\nthe same for the council chambers.\n\n“My lord?” Pycelle blinked. “Surely the affairs of the kingdom will keep till the morrow,\nwhen our grief is not so fresh.”\n\nNed was quiet but firm. “I fear we must convene at once.”\n\nPycelle bowed. “As the Hand commands.” He called his servants and sent them running,\nthen gratefully accepted Ned’s offer of a chair and a cup of sweet beer.\n\nSer Barristan Selmy was the first to answer the summons, immaculate in white cloak\nand enameled scales. “My lords,” he said, “my place is beside the young king now. Pray\ngive me leave to attend him.”\n\n“Your place is here, Ser Barristan,” Ned told him.\n\nLittlefinger came next, still garbed in the blue velvets and silver mockingbird cape he\nhad worn the night previous, his boots dusty from riding. “My lords,” he said, smiling at\nnothing in particular before he turned to Ned. “That little task you set me is\naccomplished, Lord Eddard.”\n\nVarys entered in a wash of lavender, pink from his bath, his plump face scrubbed and\nfreshly powdered, his soft slippers all but soundless. “The little birds sing a grievous\n"
## [482] "song today,” he said as he seated himself. “The realm weeps. Shall we begin?”\n\n“When Lord Renly arrives,” Ned said.\n\nVarys gave him a sorrowful look. “I fear Lord Renly has left the city.”\n\n“Left the city?” Ned had counted on Renly’s support.\n\n“He took his leave through a postern gate an hour before dawn, accompanied by Ser\nLoras Tyrell and some fifty retainers,” Varys told them. “When last seen, they were\ngalloping south in some haste, no doubt bound for Storm’s End or Highgarden.”\n\nSo much for Renly and his hundred swords. Ned did not like the smell of that, but there\nwas nothing to be done for it. He drew out Robert’s last letter. “The king called me to his\nside last night and commanded me to record his final words. Lord Renly and Grand\nMaester Pycelle stood witness as Robert sealed the letter, to be opened by the council\nafter his death. Ser Barristan, if you would be so kind?”\n\nThe Lord Commander of the Kingsguard examined the paper. “King Robert’s seal, and\nunbroken.” He opened the letter and read. “Lord Eddard Stark is herein named\nProtector of the Realm, to rule as regent until the heir comes of age.”\n\nAnd as it happens, he is of age, Ned reflected, but he did not give voice to the thought.\nHe trusted neither Pycelle nor Varys, and Ser Barristan was honor-bound to protect and\ndefend the boy he thought his new king. The old knight would not abandon Joffrey\neasily. The need for deceit was a bitter taste in his mouth, but Ned knew he must tread\nsoftly here, must keep his counsel and play the game until he was firmly established as\nregent. There would be time enough to deal with the succession when Arya and Sansa\nwere safely back in Winterfell, and Lord Stannis had returned to King’s Landing with all\nhis power.\n\n“I would ask this council to confirm me as Lord Protector, as Robert wished,” Ned said,\nwatching their faces, wondering what thoughts hid behind Pycelle’s half-closed eyes,\nLittlefinger’s lazy half-smile, and the nervous flutter of Varys’s fingers.\n\nThe door opened. Fat Tom stepped into the solar. “Pardon, my lords, the king’s steward\ninsists . . . ”\n\nThe royal steward entered and bowed. “Esteemed lords, the king demands the\nimmediate presence of his small council in the throne room.”\n\nNed had expected Cersei to strike quickly; the summons came as no surprise. “The king\n"
## [483] "is dead,” he said, “but we shall go with you nonetheless. Tom, assemble an escort, if you\nwould.”\n\nLittlefinger gave Ned his arm to help him down the steps. Varys, Pycelle, and Ser\nBarristan followed close behind. A double column of men-at-arms in chainmail and steel\nhelms was waiting outside the tower, eight strong. Grey cloaks snapped in the wind as\nthe guardsmen marched them across the yard. There was no Lannister crimson to be\nseen, but Ned was reassured by the number of gold cloaks visible on the ramparts and at\nthe gates.\n\nJanos Slynt met them at the door to the throne room, armored in ornate black-and-gold\nplate, with a high-crested helm under one arm. The Commander bowed stiffly. His men\npushed open the great oaken doors, twenty feet tall and banded with bronze.\n\nThe royal steward led them in. “All hail His Grace, Joffrey of the Houses Baratheon and\nLannister, the First of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men,\nLord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm,” he sang out.\n\nIt was a long walk to the far end of the hall, where Joffrey waited atop the Iron Throne.\nSupported by Littlefinger, Ned Stark slowly limped and hopped toward the boy who\ncalled himself king. The others followed. The first time he had come this way, he had\nbeen on horseback, sword in hand, and the Targaryen dragons had watched from the\nwalls as he forced Jaime Lannister down from the throne. He wondered if Joffrey would\nstep down quite so easily.\n\nFive knights of the Kingsguard—all but Ser Jaime and Ser Barristan—were arrayed in a\ncrescent around the base of the throne. They were in full armor, enameled steel from\nhelm to heel, long pale cloaks over their shoulders, shining white shields strapped to\ntheir left arms. Cersei Lannister and her two younger children stood behind Ser Boros\nand Ser Meryn. The queen wore a gown of sea-green silk, trimmed with Myrish lace as\npale as foam. On her finger was a golden ring with an emerald the size of a pigeon’s egg,\non her head a matching tiara.\n\nAbove them, Prince Joffrey sat amidst the barbs and spikes in a cloth-of-gold doublet\nand a red satin cape. Sandor Clegane was stationed at the foot of the throne’s steep\nnarrow stair. He wore mail and soot-grey plate and his snarling dog’s-head helm.\n\nBehind the throne, twenty Lannister guardsmen waited with longswords hanging from\ntheir belts. Crimson cloaks draped their shoulders and steel lions crested their helms.\nBut Littlefinger had kept his promise; all along the walls, in front of Robert’s tapestries\nwith their scenes of hunt and battle, the gold-cloaked ranks of the City Watch stood\nstiffly to attention, each man’s hand clasped around the haft of an eight-foot-long spear\n"
## [484] "tipped in black iron. They outnumbered the Lannisters five to one.\n\nNed’s leg was a blaze of pain by the time he stopped. He kept a hand on Littlefinger’s\nshoulder to help support his weight.\n\nJoffrey stood. His red satin cape was patterned in gold thread; fifty roaring lions to one\nside, fifty prancing stags to the other. “I command the council to make all the necessary\narrangements for my coronation,” the boy proclaimed. “I wish to be crowned within the\nfortnight. Today I shall accept oaths of fealty from my loyal councillors.”\n\nNed produced Robert’s letter. “Lord Varys, be so kind as to show this to my lady of\nLannister.”\n\nThe eunuch carried the letter to Cersei. The queen glanced at the words. “Protector of\nthe Realm,” she read. “Is this meant to be your shield, my lord? A piece of paper?” She\nripped the letter in half, ripped the halves in quarters, and let the pieces flutter to the\nfloor.\n\n“Those were the king’s words,” Ser Barristan said, shocked.\n\n“We have a new king now,” Cersei Lannister replied. “Lord Eddard, when last we spoke,\nyou gave me some counsel. Allow me to return the courtesy. Bend the knee, my lord.\nBend the knee and swear fealty to my son, and we shall allow you to step down as Hand\nand live out your days in the grey waste you call home.”\n\n“Would that I could,” Ned said grimly. If she was so determined to force the issue here\nand now, she left him no choice. “Your son has no claim to the throne he sits. Lord\nStannis is Robert’s true heir.”\n\n“Liar!” Joffrey screamed, his face reddening.\n\n“Mother, what does he mean?” Princess Myrcella asked the queen plaintively. “Isn’t Joff\nthe king now?”\n\n“You condemn yourself with your own mouth, Lord Stark,” said Cersei Lannister. “Ser\nBarristan, seize this traitor.”\n\nThe Lord Commander of the Kingsguard hesitated. In the blink of an eye he was\nsurrounded by Stark guardsmen, bare steel in their mailed fists.\n\n“And now the treason moves from words to deeds,” Cersei said. “Do you think Ser\nBarristan stands alone, my lord?” With an ominous rasp of metal on metal, the Hound\n"
## [485] "drew his longsword. The knights of the Kingsguard and twenty Lannister guardsmen in\ncrimson cloaks moved to support him.\n\n“Kill him!” the boy king screamed down from the Iron Throne. “Kill all of them, I\ncommand it!”\n\n“You leave me no choice,” Ned told Cersei Lannister. He called out to Janos Slynt.\n“Commander, take the queen and her children into custody. Do them no harm, but\nescort them back to the royal apartments and keep them there, under guard.”\n\n“Men of the Watch!” Janos Slynt shouted, donning his helm. A hundred gold cloaks\nleveled their spears and closed.\n\n“I want no bloodshed,” Ned told the queen. “Tell your men to lay down their swords, and\nno one need—”\n\nWith a single sharp thrust, the nearest gold cloak drove his spear into Tomard’s back.\nFat Tom’s blade dropped from nerveless fingers as the wet red point burst out through\nhis ribs, piercing leather and mail. He was dead before his sword hit the floor.\n\nNed’s shout came far too late. Janos Slynt himself slashed open Varly’s throat. Cayn\nwhirled, steel flashing, drove back the nearest spearman with a flurry of blows; for an\ninstant it looked as though he might cut his way free. Then the Hound was on him.\nSandor Clegane’s first cut took off Cayn’s sword hand at the wrist; his second drove him\nto his knees and opened him from shoulder to breastbone.\n\nAs his men died around him, Littlefinger slid Ned’s dagger from its sheath and shoved it\nup under his chin. His smile was apologetic. “I did warn you not to trust me, you know.”\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [486] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n ARYA\nHigh,” Syrio Forel called out, slashing at her head. The stick swords clacked as Arya\nparried.\n\n“Left,” he shouted, and his blade came whistling. Hers darted to meet it. The clack made\nhim click his teeth together.\n\n“Right,” he said, and “Low,” and “Left,” and “Left” again, faster and faster, moving\nforward. Arya retreated before him, checking each blow.\n\n“Lunge,” he warned, and when he thrust she sidestepped, swept his blade away, and\nslashed at his shoulder. She almost touched him, almost, so close it made her grin. A\nstrand of hair dangled in her eyes, limp with sweat. She pushed it away with the back of\nher hand.\n\n“Left,” Syrio sang out. “Low.” His sword was a blur, and the Small Hall echoed to the\nclack clack clack. “Left. Left. High. Left. Right. Left. Low. Left!”\n\nThe wooden blade caught her high in the breast, a sudden stinging blow that hurt all the\nmore because it came from the wrong side. “Ow,” she cried out. She would have a fresh\nbruise there by the time she went to sleep, somewhere out at sea. A bruise is a lesson,\nshe told herself, and each lesson makes us better.\n\nSyrio stepped back. “You are dead now.”\n\nArya made a face. “You cheated,” she said hotly. “You said left and you went right.”\n\n“Just so. And now you are a dead girl.”\n\n“But you lied!”\n\n“My words lied. My eyes and my arm shouted out the truth, but you were not seeing.”\n\n“I was so,” Arya said. “I watched you every second!”\n"
## [487] "“Watching is not seeing, dead girl. The water dancer sees. Come, put down the sword, it\nis time for listening now.”\n\nShe followed him over to the wall, where he settled onto a bench. “Syrio Forel was first\nsword to the Sealord of Braavos, and are you knowing how that came to pass?”\n\n“You were the finest swordsman in the city.”\n\n“Just so, but why? Other men were stronger, faster, younger, why was Syrio Forel the\nbest? I will tell you now.” He touched the tip of his little finger lightly to his eyelid. “The\nseeing, the true seeing, that is the heart of it.\n\n“Hear me. The ships of Braavos sail as far as the winds blow, to lands strange and\nwonderful, and when they return their captains fetch queer animals to the Sealord’s\nmenagerie. Such animals as you have never seen, striped horses, great spotted things\nwith necks as long as stilts, hairy mouse-pigs as big as cows, stinging manticores, tigers\nthat carry their cubs in a pouch, terrible walking lizards with scythes for claws. Syrio\nForel has seen these things.\n\n“On the day I am speaking of, the first sword was newly dead, and the Sealord sent for\nme. Many bravos had come to him, and as many had been sent away, none could say\nwhy. When I came into his presence, he was seated, and in his lap was a fat yellow cat.\nHe told me that one of his captains had brought the beast to him, from an island beyond\nthe sunrise. ‘Have you ever seen her like?’ he asked of me.\n\n“And to him I said, ‘Each night in the alleys of Braavos I see a thousand like him,’ and\nthe Sealord laughed, and that day I was named the first sword.”\n\nArya screwed up her face. “I don’t understand.”\n\nSyrio clicked his teeth together. “The cat was an ordinary cat, no more. The others\nexpected a fabulous beast, so that is what they saw. How large it was, they said. It was no\nlarger than any other cat, only fat from indolence, for the Sealord fed it from his own\ntable. What curious small ears, they said. Its ears had been chewed away in kitten fights.\nAnd it was plainly a tomcat, yet the Sealord said ‘her,’ and that is what the others saw.\nAre you hearing?”\n\nArya thought about it. “You saw what was there.”\n\n“Just so. Opening your eyes is all that is needing. The heart lies and the head plays tricks\nwith us, but the eyes see true. Look with your eyes. Hear with your ears. Taste with your\nmouth. Smell with your nose. Feel with your skin. Then comes the thinking, afterward,\n"
## [488] "and in that way knowing the truth.”\n\n“Just so,” said Arya, grinning.\n\nSyrio Forel allowed himself a smile. “I am thinking that when we are reaching this\nWinterfell of yours, it will be time to put this needle in your hand.”\n\n“Yes!” Arya said eagerly. “Wait till I show Jon—”\n\nBehind her the great wooden doors of the Small Hall flew open with a resounding crash.\nArya whirled.\n\nA knight of the Kingsguard stood beneath the arch of the door with five Lannister\nguardsmen arrayed behind him. He was in full armor, but his visor was up. Arya\nremembered his droopy eyes and rustcolored whiskers from when he had come to\nWinterfell with the king: Ser Meryn Trant. The red cloaks wore mail shirts over boiled\nleather and steel caps with lion crests. “Arya Stark,” the knight said, “come with us,\nchild.”\n\nArya chewed her lip uncertainly. “What do you want?”\n\n“Your father wants to see you.”\n\nArya took a step forward, but Syrio Forel held her by the arm. “And why is it that Lord\nEddard is sending Lannister men in the place of his own? I am wondering.”\n\n“Mind your place, dancing master,” Ser Meryn said. “This is no concern of yours.”\n\n“My father wouldn’t send you,” Arya said. She snatched up her stick sword. The\nLannisters laughed.\n\n“Put down the stick, girl,” Ser Meryn told her. “I am a Sworn Brother of the Kingsguard,\nthe White Swords.”\n\n“So was the Kingslayer when he killed the old king,” Arya said. “I don’t have to go with\nyou if I don’t want.”\n\nSer Meryn Trant ran out of patience. “Take her,” he said to his men. He lowered the\nvisor of his helm.\n\nThree of them started forward, chainmail clinking softly with each step. Arya was\n"
## [489] "suddenly afraid. Fear cuts deeper than swords, she told herself, to slow the racing of her\nheart.\n\nSyrio Forel stepped between them, tapping his wooden sword lightly against his boot.\n“You will be stopping there. Are you men or dogs that you would threaten a child?”\n\n“Out of the way, old man,” one of the red cloaks said.\n\nSyrio’s stick came whistling up and rang against his helm. “I am Syrio Forel, and you will\nnow be speaking to me with more respect.”\n\n“Bald bastard.” The man yanked free his longsword. The stick moved again, blindingly\nfast. Arya heard a loud crack as the sword went clattering to the stone floor. “My hand,”\nthe guardsman yelped, cradling his broken fingers.\n\n“You are quick, for a dancing master,” said Ser Meryn.\n\n“You are slow, for a knight,” Syrio replied.\n\n“Kill the Braavosi and bring me the girl,” the knight in the white armor commanded.\n\nFour Lannister guardsmen unsheathed their swords. The fifth, with the broken fingers,\nspat and pulled free a dagger with his left hand.\n\nSyrio Forel clicked his teeth together, sliding into his water dancer’s stance, presenting\nonly his side to the foe. “Arya child,” he called out, never looking, never taking his eyes\noff the Lannisters, “we are done with dancing for the day. Best you are going now. Run\nto your father.”\n\nArya did not want to leave him, but he had taught her to do as he said. “Swift as a deer,”\nshe whispered.\n\n“Just so,” said Syrio Forel as the Lannisters closed.\n\nArya retreated, her own sword stick clutched tightly in her hand. Watching him now, she\nrealized that Syrio had only been toying with her when they dueled. The red cloaks came\nat him from three sides with steel in their hands. They had chainmail over their chest\nand arms, and steel codpieces sewn into their pants, but only leather on their legs. Their\nhands were bare, and the caps they wore had noseguards, but no visor over the eyes.\n\nSyrio did not wait for them to reach him, but spun to his left. Arya had never seen a man\n"
## [490] "move as fast. He checked one sword with his stick and whirled away from a second. Off\nbalance, the second man lurched into the first. Syrio put a boot to his back and the red\ncloaks went down together. The third guard came leaping over them, slashing at the\nwater dancer’s head. Syrio ducked under his blade and thrust upward. The guardsman\nfell screaming as blood welled from the wet red hole where his left eye had been.\n\nThe fallen men were getting up. Syrio kicked one in the face and snatched the steel cap\noff the other’s head. The dagger man stabbed at him. Syrio caught the thrust in the\nhelmet and shattered the man’s kneecap with his stick. The last red cloak shouted a\ncurse and charged, hacking down with both hands on his sword. Syrio rolled right, and\nthe butcher’s cut caught the helmetless man between neck and shoulder as he struggled\nto his knees. The longsword crunched through mail and leather and flesh. The man on\nhis knees shrieked. Before his killer could wrench free his blade, Syrio jabbed him in the\napple of his throat. The guardsman gave a choked cry and staggered back, clutching at\nhis neck, his face blackening.\n\nFive men were down, dead, or dying by the time Arya reached the back door that opened\non the kitchen. She heard Ser Meryn Trant curse. “Bloody oafs,” he swore, drawing his\nlongsword from its scabbard.\n\nSyrio Forel resumed his stance and clicked his teeth together. “Arya child,” he called out,\nnever looking at her, “be gone now.”\n\nLook with your eyes, he had said. She saw: the knight in his pale armor head to foot,\nlegs, throat, and hands sheathed in metal, eyes hidden behind his high white helm, and\nin his hand cruel steel. Against that: Syrio, in a leather vest, with a wooden sword in his\nhand. “Syrio, run,” she screamed.\n\n“The first sword of Braavos does not run,” he sang as Ser Meryn slashed at him. Syrio\ndanced away from his cut, his stick a blur. In a heartbeat, he had bounced blows off the\nknight’s temple, elbow, and throat, the wood ringing against the metal of helm, gauntlet,\nand gorget. Arya stood frozen. Ser Meryn advanced; Syrio backed away. He checked the\nnext blow, spun away from the second, deflected the third.\n\nThe fourth sliced his stick in two, splintering the wood and shearing through the lead\ncore.\n\nSobbing, Arya spun and ran.\n\nShe plunged through the kitchens and buttery, blind with panic, weaving between cooks\nand potboys. A baker’s helper stepped in front of her, holding a wooden tray. Arya\nbowled her over, scattering fragrant loaves of fresh-baked bread on the floor. She heard\n"
## [491] "shouting behind her as she spun around a portly butcher who stood gaping at her with a\ncleaver in his hands. His arms were red to the elbow.\n\nAll that Syrio Forel had taught her went racing through her head. Swift as a deer. Quiet\nas a shadow. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Quick as a snake. Calm as still water. Fear\ncuts deeper than swords. Strong as a bear. Fierce as a wolverine. Fear cuts deeper\nthan swords. The man who fears losing has already lost. Fear cuts deeper than swords.\nFear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords. The grip of her wooden\nsword was slick with sweat, and Arya was breathing hard when she reached the turret\nstair. For an instant she froze. Up or down? Up would take her to the covered bridge that\nspanned the small court to the Tower of the Hand, but that would be the way they’d\nexpect her to go, for certain. Never do what they expect, Syrio once said. Arya went\ndown, around and around, leaping over the narrow stone steps two and three at a time.\nShe emerged in a cavernous vaulted cellar, surrounded by casks of ale stacked twenty\nfeet tall. The only light came through narrow slanting windows high in the wall.\n\nThe cellar was a dead end. There was no way out but the way she had come in. She dare\nnot go back up those steps, but she couldn’t stay here, either. She had to find her father\nand tell him what had happened. Her father would protect her.\n\nArya thrust her wooden sword through her belt and began to climb, leaping from cask to\ncask until she could reach the window. Grasping the stone with both hands, she pulled\nherself up. The wall was three feet thick, the window a tunnel slanting up and out. Arya\nwriggled toward daylight. When her head reached ground level, she peered across the\nbailey to the Tower of the Hand.\n\nThe stout wooden door hung splintered and broken, as if by axes. A dead man sprawled\nfacedown on the steps, his cloak tangled beneath him, the back of his mailed shirt\nsoaked red. The corpse’s cloak was grey wool trimmed with white satin, she saw with\nsudden terror. She could not tell who he was.\n\n“No,” she whispered. What was happening? Where was her father? Why had the red\ncloaks come for her? She remembered what the man with the yellow beard had said, the\nday she had found the monsters. If one Hand can die, why not a second? Arya felt tears\nin her eyes. She held her breath to listen. She heard the sounds of fighting, shouts,\nscreams, the clang of steel on steel, coming through the windows of the Tower of the\nHand.\n\nShe could not go back. Her father . . .\n\nArya closed her eyes. For a moment she was too frightened to move. They had killed\nJory and Wyl and Heward, and that guardsman on the step, whoever he had been. They\n"
## [492] "could kill her father too, and her if they caught her. “Fear cuts deeper than swords,” she\nsaid aloud, but it was no good pretending to be a water dancer, Syrio had been a water\ndancer and the white knight had probably killed him, and anyhow she was only a little\ngirl with a wooden stick, alone and afraid.\n\nShe squirmed out into the yard, glancing around warily as she climbed to her feet. The\ncastle seemed deserted. The Red Keep was never deserted. All the people must be hiding\ninside, their doors barred. Arya glanced up longingly at her bedchamber, then moved\naway from the Tower of the Hand, keeping close to the wall as she slid from shadow to\nshadow. She pretended she was chasing cats . . . except she was the cat now, and if they\ncaught her, they would kill her.\n\nMoving between buildings and over walls, keeping stone to her back wherever possible\nso no one could surprise her, Arya reached the stables almost without incident. A dozen\ngold cloaks in mail and plate ran past as she was edging across the inner bailey, but\nwithout knowing whose side they were on, she hunched down low in the shadows and let\nthem pass.\n\nHullen, who had been master of horse at Winterfell as long as Arya could remember, was\nslumped on the ground by the stable door. He had been stabbed so many times it looked\nas if his tunic was patterned with scarlet flowers. Arya was certain he was dead, but\nwhen she crept closer, his eyes opened. “Arya Underfoot,” he whispered. “You\nmust . . . warn your . . . your lord father . . . ” Frothy red spittle bubbled from his mouth.\nThe master of horse closed his eyes again and said no more.\n\nInside were more bodies; a groom she had played with, and three of her father’s\nhousehold guard. A wagon, laden with crates and chests, stood abandoned near the door\nof the stable. The dead men must have been loading it for the trip to the docks when they\nwere attacked. Arya snuck closer. One of the corpses was Desmond, who’d shown her his\nlongsword and promised to protect her father. He lay on his back, staring blindly at the\nceiling as flies crawled across his eyes. Close to him was a dead man in the red cloak and\nlion-crest helm of the Lannisters. Only one, though. Every northerner is worth ten of\nthese southron swords, Desmond had told her. “You liar!” she said, kicking his body in a\nsudden fury.\n\nThe animals were restless in their stalls, whickering and snorting at the scent of blood.\nArya’s only plan was to saddle a horse and flee, away from the castle and the city. All she\nhad to do was stay on the kingsroad and it would take her back to Winterfell. She took a\nbridle and harness off the wall.\n\nAs she crossed in back of the wagon, a fallen chest caught her eye. It must have been\nknocked down in the fight or dropped as it was being loaded. The wood had split, the lid\n"
## [493] "opening to spill the chest’s contents across the ground. Arya recognized silks and satins\nand velvets she never wore. She might need warm clothes on the kingsroad,\nthough . . . and besides . . .\n\nArya knelt in the dirt among the scattered clothes. She found a heavy woolen cloak, a\nvelvet skirt and a silk tunic and some smallclothes, a dress her mother had embroidered\nfor her, a silver baby bracelet she might sell. Shoving the broken lid out of the way, she\ngroped inside the chest for Needle. She had hidden it way down at the bottom, under\neverything, but her stuff had all been jumbled around when the chest was dropped. For a\nmoment Arya was afraid someone had found the sword and stolen it. Then her fingers\nfelt the hardness of metal under a satin gown.\n\n“There she is,” a voice hissed close behind her.\n\nStartled, Arya whirled. A stableboy stood behind her, a smirk on his face, his filthy white\nundertunic peeking out from beneath a soiled jerkin. His boots were covered with\nmanure, and he had a pitchfork in one hand. “Who are you?” she asked.\n\n“She don’t know me,” he said, “but I knows her, oh, yes. The wolf girl.”\n\n“Help me saddle a horse,” Arya pleaded, reaching back into the chest, groping for\nNeedle. “My father’s the Hand of the King, he’ll reward you.”\n\n“Father’s dead,” the boy said. He shuffled toward her. “It’s the queen who’ll be\nrewarding me. Come here, girl.”\n\n“Stay away!” Her fingers closed around Needle’s hilt.\n\n“I says, come.” He grabbed her arm, hard.\n\nEverything Syrio Forel had ever taught her vanished in a heartbeat. In that instant of\nsudden terror, the only lesson Arya could remember was the one Jon Snow had given\nher, the very first.\n\nShe stuck him with the pointy end, driving the blade upward with a wild, hysterical\nstrength.\n\nNeedle went through his leather jerkin and the white flesh of his belly and came out\nbetween his shoulder blades. The boy dropped the pitchfork and made a soft noise,\nsomething between a gasp and a sigh. His hands closed around the blade. “Oh, gods,” he\nmoaned, as his undertunic began to redden. “Take it out.”\n"
## [494] "When she took it out, he died.\n\nThe horses were screaming. Arya stood over the body, still and frightened in the face of\ndeath. Blood had gushed from the boy’s mouth as he collapsed, and more was seeping\nfrom the slit in his belly, pooling beneath his body. His palms were cut where he’d\ngrabbed at the blade. She backed away slowly, Needle red in her hand. She had to get\naway, someplace far from here, someplace safe away from the stableboy’s accusing eyes.\n\nShe snatched up the bridle and harness again and ran to her mare, but as she lifted the\nsaddle to the horse’s back, Arya realized with a sudden sick dread that the castle gates\nwould be closed. Even the postern doors would likely be guarded. Maybe the guards\nwouldn’t recognize her. If they thought she was a boy, perhaps they’d let her . . . no,\nthey’d have orders not to let anyone out, it wouldn’t matter whether they knew her or\nnot.\n\nBut there was another way out of the castle . . .\n\nThe saddle slipped from Arya’s fingers and fell to the dirt with a thump and a puff of\ndust. Could she find the room with the monsters again? She wasn’t certain, yet she knew\nshe had to try.\n\nShe found the clothing she’d gathered and slipped into the cloak, concealing Needle\nbeneath its folds. The rest of her things she tied in a roll. With the bundle under her arm,\nshe crept to the far end of the stable. Unlatching the back door, she peeked out\nanxiously. She could hear the distant sound of swordplay, and the shivery wail of a man\nscreaming in pain across the bailey. She would need to go down the serpentine steps,\npast the small kitchen and the pig yard, that was how she’d gone last time, chasing the\nblack tomcat . . . only that would take her right past the barracks of the gold cloaks. She\ncouldn’t go that way. Arya tried to think of another way. If she crossed to the other side\nof the castle, she could creep along the river wall and through the little godswood . . . but\nfirst she’d have to cross the yard, in the plain view of the guards on the walls.\n\nShe had never seen so many men on the walls. Gold cloaks, most of them, armed with\nspears. Some of them knew her by sight. What would they do if they saw her running\nacross the yard? She’d look so small from up there, would they be able to tell who she\nwas? Would they care?\n\nShe had to leave now, she told herself, but when the moment came, she was too\nfrightened to move.\n\nCalm as still water, a small voice whispered in her ear. Arya was so startled she almost\ndropped her bundle. She looked around wildly, but there was no one in the stable but\n"
## [495] "her, and the horses, and the dead men.\n\nQuiet as a shadow, she heard. Was it her own voice, or Syrio’s? She could not tell, yet\nsomehow it calmed her fears.\n\nShe stepped out of the stable.\n\nIt was the scariest thing she’d ever done. She wanted to run and hide, but she made\nherself walk across the yard, slowly, putting one foot in front of the other as if she had\nall the time in the world and no reason to be afraid of anyone. She thought she could feel\ntheir eyes, like bugs crawling on her skin under her clothes. Arya never looked up. If she\nsaw them watching, all her courage would desert her, she knew, and she would drop the\nbundle of clothes and run and cry like a baby, and then they would have her. She kept\nher gaze on the ground. By the time she reached the shadow of the royal sept on the far\nside of the yard, Arya was cold with sweat, but no one had raised the hue and cry.\n\nThe sept was open and empty. Inside, half a hundred prayer candles burned in a fragrant\nsilence. Arya figured the gods would never miss two. She stuffed them up her sleeves,\nand left by a back window. Sneaking back to the alley where she had cornered the one-\neared tom was easy, but after that she got lost. She crawled in and out of windows,\nhopped over walls, and felt her way through dark cellars, quiet as a shadow. Once she\nheard a woman weeping. It took her more than an hour to find the low narrow window\nthat slanted down to the dungeon where the monsters waited.\n\nShe tossed her bundle through and doubled back to light her candle. That was chancy;\nthe fire she’d remembered seeing had burnt down to embers, and she heard voices as\nshe was blowing on the coals. Cupping her fingers around the flickering candle, she went\nout the window as they were coming in the door, without ever getting a glimpse of who it\nwas.\n\nThis time the monsters did not frighten her. They seemed almost old friends. Arya held\nthe candle over her head. With each step she took, the shadows moved against the walls,\nas if they were turning to watch her pass. “Dragons,” she whispered. She slid Needle out\nfrom under her cloak. The slender blade seemed very small and the dragons very big, yet\nsomehow Arya felt better with steel in her hand.\n\nThe long windowless hall beyond the door was as black as she remembered. She held\nNeedle in her left hand, her sword hand, the candle in her right fist. Hot wax ran down\nacross her knuckles. The entrance to the well had been to the left, so Arya went right.\nPart of her wanted to run, but she was afraid of snuffing out her candle. She heard the\nfaint squeaking of rats and glimpsed a pair of tiny glowing eyes on the edge of the light,\nbut rats did not scare her. Other things did. It would be so easy to hide here, as she had\n"
## [496] "hidden from the wizard and the man with the forked beard. She could almost see the\nstableboy standing against the wall, his hands curled into claws with the blood still\ndripping from the deep gashes in his palms where Needle had cut him. He might be\nwaiting to grab her as she passed. He would see her candle coming a long way off. Maybe\nshe would be better off without the light . . .\n\nFear cuts deeper than swords, the quiet voice inside her whispered. Suddenly Arya\nremembered the crypts at Winterfell. They were a lot scarier than this place, she told\nherself. She’d been just a little girl the first time she saw them. Her brother Robb had\ntaken them down, her and Sansa and baby Bran, who’d been no bigger than Rickon was\nnow. They’d only had one candle between them, and Bran’s eyes had gotten as big as\nsaucers as he stared at the stone faces of the Kings of Winter, with their wolves at their\nfeet and their iron swords across their laps.\n\nRobb took them all the way down to the end, past Grandfather and Brandon and\nLyanna, to show them their own tombs. Sansa kept looking at the stubby little candle,\nanxious that it might go out. Old Nan had told her there were spiders down here, and\nrats as big as dogs. Robb smiled when she said that. “There are worse things than\nspiders and rats,” he whispered. “This is where the dead walk.” That was when they\nheard the sound, low and deep and shivery. Baby Bran had clutched at Arya’s hand.\n\nWhen the spirit stepped out of the open tomb, pale white and moaning for blood, Sansa\nran shrieking for the stairs, and Bran wrapped himself around Robb’s leg, sobbing. Arya\nstood her ground and gave the spirit a punch. It was only Jon, covered with flour. “You\nstupid,” she told him, “you scared the baby,” but Jon and Robb just laughed and\nlaughed, and pretty soon Bran and Arya were laughing too.\n\nThe memory made Arya smile, and after that the darkness held no more terrors for her.\nThe stableboy was dead, she’d killed him, and if he jumped out at her she’d kill him\nagain. She was going home. Everything would be better once she was home again, safe\nbehind Winterfell’s grey granite walls.\n\nHer footsteps sent soft echoes hurrying ahead of her as Arya plunged deeper into the\ndarkness.\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [497] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n SANSA\nThey came for Sansa on the third day.\n\nShe chose a simple dress of dark grey wool, plainly cut but richly embroidered around\nthe collar and sleeves. Her fingers felt thick and clumsy as she struggled with the silver\nfastenings without the benefit of servants. Jeyne Poole had been confined with her, but\nJeyne was useless. Her face was puffy from all her crying, and she could not seem to stop\nsobbing about her father.\n\n“I’m certain your father is well,” Sansa told her when she had finally gotten the dress\nbuttoned right. “I’ll ask the queen to let you see him.” She thought that kindness might\nlift Jeyne’s spirits, but the other girl just looked at her with red, swollen eyes and began\nto cry all the harder. She was such a child.\n\nSansa had wept too, the first day. Even within the stout walls of Maegor’s Holdfast, with\nher door closed and barred, it was hard not to be terrified when the killing began. She\nhad grown up to the sound of steel in the yard, and scarcely a day of her life had passed\nwithout hearing the clash of sword on sword, yet somehow knowing that the fighting was\nreal made all the difference in the world. She heard it as she had never heard it before,\nand there were other sounds as well, grunts of pain, angry curses, shouts for help, and\nthe moans of wounded and dying men. In the songs, the knights never screamed nor\nbegged for mercy.\n\nSo she wept, pleading through her door for them to tell her what was happening, calling\nfor her father, for Septa Mordane, for the king, for her gallant prince. If the men\nguarding her heard her pleas, they gave no answer. The only time the door opened was\nlate that night, when they thrust Jeyne Poole inside, bruised and shaking. “They’re\nkilling everyone,” the steward’s daughter had shrieked at her. She went on and on. The\nHound had broken down her door with a warhammer, she said. There were bodies on\nthe stair of the Tower of the Hand, and the steps were slick with blood. Sansa dried her\nown tears as she struggled to comfort her friend. They went to sleep in the same bed,\ncradled in each other’s arms like sisters.\n\nThe second day was even worse. The room where Sansa had been confined was at the\ntop of the highest tower of Maegor’s Holdfast. From its window, she could see that the\nheavy iron portcullis in the gatehouse was down, and the drawbridge drawn up over the\n"
## [498] "deep dry moat that separated the keep-within-a-keep from the larger castle that\nsurrounded it. Lannister guardsmen prowled the walls with spears and crossbows to\nhand. The fighting was over, and the silence of the grave had settled over the Red Keep.\nThe only sounds were Jeyne Poole’s endless whimpers and sobs.\n\nThey were fed—hard cheese and fresh-baked bread and milk to break their fast, roast\nchicken and greens at midday, and a late supper of beef and barley stew—but the\nservants who brought the meals would not answer Sansa’s questions. That evening,\nsome women brought her clothes from the Tower of the Hand, and some of Jeyne’s\nthings as well, but they seemed nearly as frightened as Jeyne, and when she tried to talk\nto them, they fled from her as if she had the grey plague. The guards outside the door\nstill refused to let them leave the room.\n\n“Please, I need to speak to the queen again,” Sansa told them, as she told everyone she\nsaw that day. “She’ll want to talk to me, I know she will. Tell her I want to see her,\nplease. If not the queen, then Prince Joffrey, if you’d be so kind. We’re to marry when\nwe’re older.”\n\nAt sunset on the second day, a great bell began to ring. Its voice was deep and sonorous,\nand the long slow clanging filled Sansa with a sense of dread. The ringing went on and\non, and after a while they heard other bells answering from the Great Sept of Baelor on\nVisenya’s Hill. The sound rumbled across the city like thunder, warning of the storm to\ncome.\n\n“What is it?” Jeyne asked, covering her ears. “Why are they ringing the bells?”\n\n“The king is dead.” Sansa could not say how she knew it, yet she did. The slow, endless\nclanging filled their room, as mournful as a dirge. Had some enemy stormed the castle\nand murdered King Robert? Was that the meaning of the fighting they had heard?\n\nShe went to sleep wondering, restless, and fearful. Was her beautiful Joffrey the king\nnow? Or had they killed him too? She was afraid for him, and for her father. If only they\nwould tell her what was happening . . .\n\nThat night Sansa dreamt of Joffrey on the throne, with herself seated beside him in a\ngown of woven gold. She had a crown on her head, and everyone she had ever known\ncame before her, to bend the knee and say their courtesies.\n\nThe next morning, the morning of the third day, Ser Boros Blount of the Kingsguard\ncame to escort her to the queen.\n\nSer Boros was an ugly man with a broad chest and short, bandy legs. His nose was flat,\n"
## [499] "his cheeks baggy with jowls, his hair grey and brittle. Today he wore white velvet, and\nhis snowy cloak was fastened with a lion brooch. The beast had the soft sheen of gold,\nand his eyes were tiny rubies. “You look very handsome and splendid this morning, Ser\nBoros,” Sansa told him. A lady remembered her courtesies, and she was resolved to be a\nlady no matter what.\n\n“And you, my lady,” Ser Boros said in a flat voice. “Her Grace awaits. Come with me.”\n\nThere were guards outside her door, Lannister men-at-arms in crimson cloaks and lion-\ncrested helms. Sansa made herself smile at them pleasantly and bid them a good\nmorning as she passed. It was the first time she had been allowed outside the chamber\nsince Ser Arys Oakheart had led her there two mornings past. “To keep you safe, my\nsweet one,” Queen Cersei had told her. “Joffrey would never forgive me if anything\nhappened to his precious.”\n\nSansa had expected that Ser Boros would escort her to the royal apartments, but instead\nhe led her out of Maegor’s Holdfast. The bridge was down again. Some workmen were\nlowering a man on ropes into the depths of the dry moat. When Sansa peered down, she\nsaw a body impaled on the huge iron spikes below. She averted her eyes quickly, afraid\nto ask, afraid to look too long, afraid he might be someone she knew.\n\nThey found Queen Cersei in the council chambers, seated at the head of a long table\nlittered with papers, candles, and blocks of sealing wax. The room was as splendid as any\nthat Sansa had ever seen. She stared in awe at the carved wooden screen and the twin\nsphinxes that sat beside the door.\n\n“Your Grace,” Ser Boros said when they were ushered inside by another of the\nKingsguard, Ser Mandon of the curiously dead face, “I’ve brought the girl.”\n\nSansa had hoped Joffrey might be with her. Her prince was not there, but three of the\nking’s councillors were. Lord Petyr Baelish sat on the queen’s left hand, Grand Maester\nPycelle at the end of the table, while Lord Varys hovered over them, smelling flowery. All\nof them were clad in black, she realized with a feeling of dread. Mourning clothes . . .\n\nThe queen wore a high-collared black silk gown, with a hundred dark red rubies sewn\ninto her bodice, covering her from neck to bosom. They were cut in the shape of\nteardrops, as if the queen were weeping blood. Cersei smiled to see her, and Sansa\nthought it was the sweetest and saddest smile she had ever seen. “Sansa, my sweet\nchild,” she said, “I know you’ve been asking for me. I’m sorry that I could not send for\nyou sooner. Matters have been very unsettled, and I have not had a moment. I trust my\npeople have been taking good care of you?”\n"
## [500] "“Everyone has been very sweet and pleasant, Your Grace, thank you ever so much for\nasking,” Sansa said politely. “Only, well, no one will talk to us or tell us what’s\nhappened . . . ”\n\n“Us?” Cersei seemed puzzled.\n\n“We put the steward’s girl in with her,” Ser Boros said. “We did not know what else to do\nwith her.”\n\nThe queen frowned. “Next time, you will ask,” she said, her voice sharp. “The gods only\nknow what sort of tales she’s been filling Sansa’s head with.”\n\n“Jeyne’s scared,” Sansa said. “She won’t stop crying. I promised her I’d ask if she could\nsee her father.”\n\nOld Grand Maester Pycelle lowered his eyes.\n\n“Her father is well, isn’t he?” Sansa said anxiously. She knew there had been fighting,\nbut surely no one would harm a steward. Vayon Poole did not even wear a sword.\n\nQueen Cersei looked at each of the councillors in turn. “I won’t have Sansa fretting\nneedlessly. What shall we do with this little friend of hers, my lords?”\n\nLord Petyr leaned forward. “I’ll find a place for her.”\n\n“Not in the city,” said the queen.\n\n“Do you take me for a fool?”\n\nThe queen ignored that. “Ser Boros, escort this girl to Lord Petyr’s apartments and\ninstruct his people to keep her there until he comes for her. Tell her that Littlefinger will\nbe taking her to see her father, that ought to calm her down. I want her gone before\nSansa returns to her chamber.”\n\n“As you command, Your Grace,” Ser Boros said. He bowed deeply, spun on his heel, and\ntook his leave, his long white cloak stirring the air behind him.\n\nSansa was confused. “I don’t understand,” she said. “Where is Jeyne’s father? Why can’t\nSer Boros take her to him instead of Lord Petyr having to do it?” She had promised\nherself she would be a lady, gentle as the queen and as strong as her mother, the Lady\nCatelyn, but all of a sudden she was scared again. For a second she thought she might\n"
## [501] "cry. “Where are you sending her? She hasn’t done anything wrong, she’s a good girl.”\n\n“She’s upset you,” the queen said gently. “We can’t be having that. Not another word,\nnow. Lord Baelish will see that Jeyne’s well taken care of, I promise you.” She patted the\nchair beside her. “Sit down, Sansa. I want to talk to you.”\n\nSansa seated herself beside the queen. Cersei smiled again, but that did not make her\nfeel any less anxious. Varys was wringing his soft hands together, Grand Maester Pycelle\nkept his sleepy eyes on the papers in front of him, but she could feel Littlefinger staring.\nSomething about the way the small man looked at her made Sansa feel as though she\nhad no clothes on. Goose bumps pimpled her skin.\n\n“Sweet Sansa,” Queen Cersei said, laying a soft hand on her wrist. “Such a beautiful\nchild. I do hope you know how much Joffrey and I love you.”\n\n“You do?” Sansa said, breathless. Littlefinger was forgotten. Her prince loved her.\nNothing else mattered.\n\nThe queen smiled. “I think of you almost as my own daughter. And I know the love you\nbear for Joffrey.” She gave a weary shake of her head. “I am afraid we have some grave\nnews about your lord father. You must be brave, child.”\n\nHer quiet words gave Sansa a chill. “What is it?”\n\n“Your father is a traitor, dear,” Lord Varys said.\n\nGrand Maester Pycelle lifted his ancient head. “With my own ears, I heard Lord Eddard\nswear to our beloved King Robert that he would protect the young princes as if they were\nhis own sons. And yet the moment the king was dead, he called the small council\ntogether to steal Prince Joffrey’s rightful throne.”\n\n“No,” Sansa blurted. “He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t!”\n\nThe queen picked up a letter. The paper was torn and stiff with dried blood, but the\nbroken seal was her father’s, the direwolf stamped in pale wax. “We found this on the\ncaptain of your household guard, Sansa. It is a letter to my late husband’s brother\nStannis, inviting him to take the crown.”\n\n“Please, Your Grace, there’s been a mistake.” Sudden panic made her dizzy and faint.\n“Please, send for my father, he’ll tell you, he would never write such a letter, the king was\nhis friend.”\n"
## [502] "“Robert thought so,” said the queen. “This betrayal would have broken his heart. The\ngods are kind, that he did not live to see it.” She sighed. “Sansa, sweetling, you must see\nwhat a dreadful position this has left us in. You are innocent of any wrong, we all know\nthat, and yet you are the daughter of a traitor. How can I allow you to marry my son?”\n\n“But I love him,” Sansa wailed, confused and frightened. What did they mean to do to\nher? What had they done to her father? It was not supposed to happen this way. She had\nto wed Joffrey, they were betrothed, he was promised to her, she had even dreamed\nabout it. It wasn’t fair to take him away from her on account of whatever her father\nmight have done.\n\n“How well I know that, child,” Cersei said, her voice so kind and sweet. “Why else should\nyou have come to me and told me of your father’s plan to send you away from us, if not\nfor love?”\n\n“It was for love,” Sansa said in a rush. “Father wouldn’t even give me leave to say\nfarewell.” She was the good girl, the obedient girl, but she had felt as wicked as Arya that\nmorning, sneaking away from Septa Mordane, defying her lord father. She had never\ndone anything so willful before, and she would never have done it then if she hadn’t\nloved Joffrey as much as she did. “He was going to take me back to Winterfell and marry\nme to some hedge knight, even though it was Joff I wanted. I told him, but he wouldn’t\nlisten.” The king had been her last hope. The king could command Father to let her stay\nin King’s Landing and marry Prince Joffrey, Sansa knew he could, but the king had\nalways frightened her. He was loud and rough-voiced and drunk as often as not, and he\nwould probably have just sent her back to Lord Eddard, if they even let her see him. So\nshe went to the queen instead, and poured out her heart, and Cersei had listened and\nthanked her sweetly . . . only then Ser Arys had escorted her to the high room in\nMaegor’s Holdfast and posted guards, and a few hours later, the fighting had begun\noutside. “Please,” she finished, “you have to let me marry Joffrey, I’ll be ever so good a\nwife to him, you’ll see. I’ll be a queen just like you, I promise.”\n\nQueen Cersei looked to the others. “My lords of the council, what do you say to her plea?”\n\n“The poor child,” murmured Varys. “A love so true and innocent, Your Grace, it would be\ncruel to deny it . . . and yet, what can we do? Her father stands condemned.” His soft\nhands washed each other in a gesture of helpless distress.\n\n“A child born of traitor’s seed will find that betrayal comes naturally to her,” said Grand\nMaester Pycelle. “She is a sweet thing now, but in ten years, who can say what treasons\nshe may hatch?”\n\n“No,” Sansa said, horrified. “I’m not, I’d never . . . I wouldn’t betray Joffrey, I love him, I\n"
## [503] "swear it, I do.”\n\n“Oh, so poignant,” said Varys. “And yet, it is truly said that blood runs truer than oaths.”\n\n“She reminds me of the mother, not the father,” Lord Petyr Baelish said quietly. “Look at\nher. The hair, the eyes. She is the very image of Cat at the same age.”\n\nThe queen looked at her, troubled, and yet Sansa could see kindness in her clear green\neyes. “Child,” she said, “if I could truly believe that you were not like your father, why\nnothing should please me more than to see you wed to my Joffrey. I know he loves you\nwith all his heart.” She sighed. “And yet, I fear that Lord Varys and the Grand Maester\nhave the right of it. The blood will tell. I have only to remember how your sister set her\nwolf on my son.”\n\n“I’m not like Arya,” Sansa blurted. “She has the traitor’s blood, not me. I’m good, ask\nSepta Mordane, she’ll tell you, I only want to be Joffrey’s loyal and loving wife.”\n\nShe felt the weight of Cersei’s eyes as the queen studied her face. “I believe you mean it,\nchild.” She turned to face the others. “My lords, it seems to me that if the rest of her kin\nwere to remain loyal in this terrible time, that would go a long way toward laying our\nfears to rest.”\n\nGrand Maester Pycelle stroked his huge soft beard, his wide brow furrowed in thought.\n“Lord Eddard has three sons.”\n\n“Mere boys,” Lord Petyr said with a shrug. “I should be more concerned with Lady\nCatelyn and the Tullys.”\n\nThe queen took Sansa’s hand in both of hers. “Child, do you know your letters?”\n\nSansa nodded nervously. She could read and write better than any of her brothers,\nalthough she was hopeless at sums.\n\n“I am pleased to hear that. Perhaps there is hope for you and Joffrey still . . . ”\n\n“What do you want me to do?”\n\n“You must write your lady mother, and your brother, the eldest . . . what is his name?”\n\n“Robb,” Sansa said.\n"
## [504] "“The word of your lord father’s treason will no doubt reach them soon. Better that it\nshould come from you. You must tell them how Lord Eddard betrayed his king.”\n\nSansa wanted Joffrey desperately, but she did not think she had the courage to do as the\nqueen was asking. “But he never . . . I don’t . . . Your Grace, I wouldn’t know what to say\n...”\n\nThe queen patted her hand. “We will tell you what to write, child. The important thing is\nthat you urge Lady Catelyn and your brother to keep the king’s peace.”\n\n“It will go hard for them if they don’t,” said Grand Maester Pycelle. “By the love you bear\nthem, you must urge them to walk the path of wisdom.”\n\n“Your lady mother will no doubt fear for you dreadfully,” the queen said. “You must tell\nher that you are well and in our care, that we are treating you gently and seeing to your\nevery want. Bid them to come to King’s Landing and pledge their fealty to Joffrey when\nhe takes his throne. If they do that . . . why, then we shall know that there is no taint in\nyour blood, and when you come into the flower of your womanhood, you shall wed the\nking in the Great Sept of Baelor, before the eyes of gods and men.”\n\n . . . wed the king . . . The words made her breath come faster, yet still Sansa hesitated.\n“Perhaps . . . if I might see my father, talk to him about . . . ”\n\n“Treason?” Lord Varys hinted.\n\n“You disappoint me, Sansa,” the queen said, with eyes gone hard as stones. “We’ve told\nyou of your father’s crimes. If you are truly as loyal as you say, why should you want to\nsee him?”\n\n“I . . . I only meant . . . ” Sansa felt her eyes grow wet. “He’s not . . . please, he hasn’t\nbeen . . . hurt, or . . . or . . . ”\n\n“Lord Eddard has not been harmed,” the queen said.\n\n“But . . . what’s to become of him?”\n\n“That is a matter for the king to decide,” Grand Maester Pycelle announced ponderously.\n\nThe king! Sansa blinked back her tears. Joffrey was the king now, she thought. Her\ngallant prince would never hurt her father, no matter what he might have done. If she\nwent to him and pleaded for mercy, she was certain he’d listen. He had to listen, he\nloved her, even the queen said so. Joff would need to punish Father, the lords would\n"
## [505] "expect it, but perhaps he could send him back to Winterfell, or exile him to one of the\nFree Cities across the narrow sea. It would only have to be for a few years. By then she\nand Joffrey would be married. Once she was queen, she could persuade Joff to bring\nFather back and grant him a pardon.\n\nOnly . . . if Mother or Robb did anything treasonous, called the banners or refused to\nswear fealty or anything, it would all go wrong. Her Joffrey was good and kind, she\nknew it in her heart, but a king had to be stern with rebels. She had to make them\nunderstand, she had to!\n\n“I’ll . . . I’ll write the letters,” Sansa told them.\n\nWith a smile as warm as the sunrise, Cersei Lannister leaned close and kissed her gently\non the cheek. “I knew you would. Joffrey will be so proud when I tell him what courage\nand good sense you’ve shown here today.”\n\nIn the end, she wrote four letters. To her mother, the Lady Catelyn Stark, and to her\nbrothers at Winterfell, and to her aunt and her grandfather as well, Lady Lysa Arryn of\nthe Eyrie, and Lord Hoster Tully of Riverrun. By the time she had done, her fingers were\ncramped and stiff and stained with ink. Varys had her father’s seal. She warmed the pale\nwhite beeswax over a candle, poured it carefully, and watched as the eunuch stamped\neach letter with the direwolf of House Stark.\n\nJeyne Poole and all her things were gone when Ser Mandon Moore returned Sansa to the\nhigh tower of Maegor’s Holdfast. No more weeping, she thought gratefully. Yet somehow\nit seemed colder with Jeyne gone, even after she’d built a fire. She pulled a chair close to\nthe hearth, took down one of her favorite books, and lost herself in the stories of Florian\nand Jonquil, of Lady Shella and the Rainbow Knight, of valiant Prince Aemon and his\ndoomed love for his brother’s queen.\n\nIt was not until later that night, as she was drifting off to sleep, that Sansa realized she\nhad forgotten to ask about her sister.\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [506] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n JON\nOthor,” announced Ser Jaremy Rykker, “beyond a doubt. And this one was Jafer\nFlowers.” He turned the corpse over with his foot, and the dead white face stared up at\nthe overcast sky with blue, blue eyes. “They were Ben Stark’s men, both of them.”\n\nMy uncle’s men, Jon thought numbly. He remembered how he’d pleaded to ride with\nthem. Gods, I was such a green boy. If he had taken me, it might be me lying here . . .\n\nJafer’s right wrist ended in the ruin of torn flesh and splintered bone left by Ghost’s\njaws. His right hand was floating in a jar of vinegar back in Maester Aemon’s tower. His\nleft hand, still at the end of his arm, was as black as his cloak.\n\n“Gods have mercy,” the Old Bear muttered. He swung down from his garron, handing\nhis reins to Jon. The morning was unnaturally warm; beads of sweat dotted the Lord\nCommander’s broad forehead like dew on a melon. His horse was nervous, rolling her\neyes, backing away from the dead men as far as her lead would allow. Jon led her off a\nfew paces, fighting to keep her from bolting. The horses did not like the feel of this place.\nFor that matter, neither did Jon.\n\nThe dogs liked it least of all. Ghost had led the party here; the pack of hounds had been\nuseless. When Bass the kennelmaster had tried to get them to take the scent from the\nsevered hand, they had gone wild, yowling and barking, fighting to get away. Even now\nthey were snarling and whimpering by turns, pulling at their leashes while Chett cursed\nthem for curs.\n\nIt is only a wood, Jon told himself, and they’re only dead men. He had seen dead men\nbefore . . .\n\nLast night he had dreamt the Winterfell dream again. He was wandering the empty\ncastle, searching for his father, descending into the crypts. Only this time the dream had\ngone further than before. In the dark he’d heard the scrape of stone on stone. When he\nturned he saw that the vaults were opening, one after the other. As the dead kings came\nstumbling from their cold black graves, Jon had woken in pitch-dark, his heart\nhammering. Even when Ghost leapt up on the bed to nuzzle at his face, he could not\nshake his deep sense of terror. He dared not go back to sleep. Instead he had climbed the\nWall and walked, restless, until he saw the light of the dawn off to the cast. It was only a\n"
## [507] "dream. I am a brother of the Night’s Watch now, not a frightened boy.\n\nSamwell Tarly huddled beneath the trees, half-hidden behind the horses. His round fat\nface was the color of curdled milk. So far he had not lurched off to the woods to retch,\nbut he had not so much as glanced at the dead men either. “I can’t look,” he whispered\nmiserably.\n\n“You have to look,” Jon told him, keeping his voice low so the others would not hear.\n“Maester Aemon sent you to be his eyes, didn’t he? What good are eyes if they’re shut?”\n\n“Yes, but . . . I’m such a coward, Jon.”\n\nJon put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “We have a dozen rangers with us, and the dogs, even\nGhost. No one will hurt you, Sam. Go ahead and look. The first look is the hardest.”\n\nSam gave a tremulous nod, working up his courage with a visible effort. Slowly he\nswiveled his head. His eyes widened, but Jon held his arm so he could not turn away.\n\n“Ser Jaremy,” the Old Bear asked gruffly, “Ben Stark had six men with him when he rode\nfrom the Wall. Where are the others?”\n\nSer Jaremy shook his head. “Would that I knew.”\n\nPlainly Mormont was not pleased with that answer. “Two of our brothers butchered\nalmost within sight of the Wall, yet your rangers heard nothing, saw nothing. Is this\nwhat the Night’s Watch has fallen to? Do we still sweep these woods?”\n\n“Yes, my lord, but—”\n\n“Do we still mount watches?”\n\n“We do, but—”\n\n“This man wears a hunting horn.” Mormont pointed at Othor. “Must I suppose that he\ndied without sounding it? Or have your rangers all gone deaf as well as blind?”\n\nSer Jaremy bristled, his face taut with anger. “No horn was blown, my lord, or my\nrangers would have heard it. I do not have sufficient men to mount as many patrols as I\nshould like . . . and since Benjen was lost, we have stayed closer to the Wall than we were\nwont to do before, by your own command.”\n"
## [508] "The Old Bear grunted. “Yes. Well. Be that as it may.” He made an impatient gesture.\n“Tell me how they died.”\n\nSquatting beside the dead man he had named Jafer Flowers, Ser Jaremy grasped his\nhead by the scalp. The hair came out between his fingers, brittle as straw. The knight\ncursed and shoved at the face with the heel of his hand. A great gash in the side of the\ncorpse’s neck opened like a mouth, crusted with dried blood. Only a few ropes of pale\ntendon still attached the head to the neck. “This was done with an axe.”\n\n“Aye,” muttered Dywen, the old forester. “Belike the axe that Othor carried, m’lord.”\n\nJon could feel his breakfast churning in his belly, but he pressed his lips together and\nmade himself look at the second body. Othor had been a big ugly man, and he made a\nbig ugly corpse. No axe was in evidence. Jon remembered Othor; he had been the one\nbellowing the bawdy song as the rangers rode out. His singing days were done. His flesh\nwas blanched white as milk, everywhere but his hands. His hands were black like Jafer’s.\nBlossoms of hard cracked blood decorated the mortal wounds that covered him like a\nrash, breast and groin and throat. Yet his eyes were still open. They stared up at the sky,\nblue as sapphires.\n\nSer Jaremy stood. “The wildlings have axes too.”\n\nMormont rounded on him. “So you believe this is Mance Rayder’s work? This close to\nthe Wall?”\n\n“Who else, my lord?”\n\nJon could have told him. He knew, they all knew, yet no man of them would say the\nwords. The Others are only a story, a tale to make children shiver. If they ever lived at\nall, they are gone eight thousand years. Even the thought made him feel foolish; he was\na man grown now, a black brother of the Night’s Watch, not the boy who’d once sat at\nOld Nan’s feet with Bran and Robb and Arya.\n\nYet Lord Commander Mormont gave a snort. “If Ben Stark had come under wildling\nattack a half day’s ride from Castle Black, he would have returned for more men, chased\nthe killers through all seven hells and brought me back their heads.”\n\n“Unless he was slain as well,” Ser Jaremy insisted.\n\nThe words hurt, even now. It had been so long, it seemed folly to cling to the hope that\nBen Stark was still alive, but Jon Snow was nothing if not stubborn.\n"
## [509] "“It has been close on half a year since Benjen left us, my lord,” Ser Jaremy went on. “The\nforest is vast. The wildlings might have fallen on him anywhere. I’d wager these two were\nthe last survivors of his party, on their way back to us . . . but the enemy caught them\nbefore they could reach the safety of the Wall. The corpses are still fresh, these men\ncannot have been dead more than a day . . . .”\n\n“No,” Samwell Tarly squeaked.\n\nJon was startled. Sam’s nervous, high-pitched voice was the last he would have expected\nto hear. The fat boy was frightened of the officers, and Ser Jaremy was not known for his\npatience.\n\n“I did not ask for your views, boy,” Rykker said coldly.\n\n“Let him speak, ser,” Jon blurted.\n\nMormont’s eyes flicked from Sam to Jon and back again. “If the lad has something to\nsay, I’ll hear him out. Come closer, boy. We can’t see you behind those horses.”\n\nSam edged past Jon and the garrons, sweating profusely. “My lord, it . . . it can’t be a day\nor . . . look . . . the blood . . . ”\n\n“Yes?” Mormont growled impatiently. “Blood, what of it?”\n\n“He soils his smallclothes at the sight of it,” Chett shouted out, and the rangers laughed.\n\nSam mopped at the sweat on his brow. “You . . . you can see where Ghost . . . Jon’s\ndirewolf . . . you can see where he tore off that man’s hand, and yet . . . the stump hasn’t\nbled, look . . . ” He waved a hand. “My father . . . L-lord Randyll, he, he made me watch\nhim dress animals sometimes, when . . . after . . . ” Sam shook his head from side to side,\nhis chins quivering. Now that he had looked at the bodies, he could not seem to look\naway. “A fresh kill . . . the blood would still flow, my lords. Later . . . later it would be\nclotted, like a . . . a jelly, thick and . . . and . . . ” He looked as though he was going to be\nsick. “This man . . . look at the wrist, it’s all . . . crusty . . . dry . . . like . . . ”\n\nJon saw at once what Sam meant. He could see the torn veins in the dead man’s wrist,\niron worms in the pale flesh. His blood was a black dust. Yet Jaremy Rykker was\nunconvinced. “If they’d been dead much longer than a day, they’d be ripe by now, boy.\nThey don’t even smell.”\n\nDywen, the gnarled old forester who liked to boast that he could smell snow coming on,\nsidled closer to the corpses and took a whiff. “Well, they’re no pansy flowers,\n"
## [510] "but . . . m’lord has the truth of it. There’s no corpse stink.”\n\n“They . . . they aren’t rotting.” Sam pointed, his fat finger shaking only a little. “Look,\nthere’s . . . there’s no maggots or . . . or . . . worms or anything . . . they’ve been lying here\nin the woods, but they . . . they haven’t been chewed or eaten by animals . . . only\nGhost . . . otherwise they’re . . . they’re . . . ”\n\n“Untouched,” Jon said softly. “And Ghost is different. The dogs and the horses won’t go\nnear them.”\n\nThe rangers exchanged glances; they could see it was true, every man of them. Mormont\nfrowned, glancing from the corpses to the dogs. “Chett, bring the hounds closer.”\n\nChett tried, cursing, yanking on the leashes, giving one animal a lick of his boot. Most of\nthe dogs just whimpered and planted their feet. He tried dragging one. The bitch\nresisted, growling and squirming as if to escape her collar. Finally she lunged at him.\nChett dropped the leash and stumbled backward. The dog leapt over him and bounded\noff into the trees.\n\n“This . . . this is all wrong,” Sam Tarly said earnestly. “The blood . . . there’s bloodstains\non their clothes, and . . . and their flesh, dry and hard, but . . . there’s none on the\nground, or . . . anywhere. With those . . . those . . . those . . . ” Sam made himself swallow,\ntook a deep breath. “With those wounds . . . terrible wounds . . . there should be blood all\nover. Shouldn’t there?”\n\nDywen sucked at his wooden teeth. “Might be they didn’t die here. Might be someone\nbrought ’em and left ’em for us. A warning, as like.” The old forester peered down\nsuspiciously. “And might be I’m a fool, but I don’t know that Othor never had no blue\neyes afore.”\n\nSer Jaremy looked startled. “Neither did Flowers,” he blurted, turning to stare at the\ndead man.\n\nA silence fell over the wood. For a moment all they heard was Sam’s heavy breathing and\nthe wet sound of Dywen sucking on his teeth. Jon squatted beside Ghost.\n\n“Burn them,” someone whispered. One of the rangers; Jon could not have said who.\n“Yes, burn them,” a second voice urged.\n\nThe Old Bear gave a stubborn shake of his head. “Not yet. I want Maester Aemon to have\na look at them. We’ll bring them back to the Wall.”\n"
## [511] "Some commands are more easily given than obeyed. They wrapped the dead men in\ncloaks, but when Hake and Dywen tried to tie one onto a horse, the animal went mad,\nscreaming and rearing, lashing out with its hooves, even biting at Ketter when he ran to\nhelp. The rangers had no better luck with the other garrons; not even the most placid\nwanted any part of these burdens. In the end they were forced to hack off branches and\nfashion crude slings to carry the corpses back on foot. It was well past midday by the\ntime they started back.\n\n“I will have these woods searched,” Mormont commanded Ser Jaremy as they set out.\n“Every tree, every rock, every bush, and every foot of muddy ground within ten leagues\nof here. Use all the men you have, and if you do not have enough, borrow hunters and\nforesters from the stewards. If Ben and the others are out here, dead or alive, I will have\nthem found. And if there is anyone else in these woods, I will know of it. You are to track\nthem and take them, alive if possible. Is that understood?”\n\n“It is, my lord,” Ser Jaremy said. “It will be done.”\n\nAfter that, Mormont rode in silence, brooding. Jon followed close behind him; as the\nLord Commander’s steward, that was his place. The day was grey, damp, overcast, the\nsort of day that made you wish for rain. No wind stirred the wood; the air hung humid\nand heavy, and Jon’s clothes clung to his skin. It was warm. Too warm. The Wall was\nweeping copiously, had been weeping for days, and sometimes Jon even imagined it was\nshrinking.\n\nThe old men called this weather spirit summer, and said it meant the season was giving\nup its ghosts at last. After this the cold would come, they warned, and a long summer\nalways meant a long winter. This summer had lasted ten years. Jon had been a babe in\narms when it began.\n\nGhost ran with them for a time and then vanished among the trees. Without the\ndirewolf, Jon felt almost naked. He found himself glancing at every shadow with unease.\nUnbidden, he thought back on the tales that Old Nan used to tell them, when he was a\nboy at Winterfell. He could almost hear her voice again, and the click-click-click of her\nneedles. In that darkness, the Others came riding, she used to say, dropping her voice\nlower and lower. Cold and dead they were, and they hated iron and fire and the touch\nof the sun, and every living creature with hot blood in its veins. Holdfasts and cities\nand kingdoms of men all fell before them, as they moved south on pale dead horses,\nleading hosts of the slain. They fed their dead servants on the flesh of human\nchildren . . .\n\nWhen he caught his first glimpse of the Wall looming above the tops of an ancient\ngnarled oak, Jon was vastly relieved. Mormont reined up suddenly and turned in his\n"
## [512] "saddle. “Tarly,” he barked, “come here.”\n\nJon saw the start of fright on Sam’s face as he lumbered up on his mare; doubtless he\nthought he was in trouble. “You’re fat but you’re not stupid, boy,” the Old Bear said\ngruffly. “You did well back there. And you, Snow.”\n\nSam blushed a vivid crimson and tripped over his own tongue as he tried to stammer out\na courtesy. Jon had to smile.\n\nWhen they emerged from under the trees, Mormont spurred his tough little garron to a\ntrot. Ghost came streaking out from the woods to meet them, licking his chops, his\nmuzzle red from prey. High above, the men on the Wall saw the column approaching.\nJon heard the deep, throaty call of the watchman’s great horn, calling out across the\nmiles; a single long blast that shuddered through the trees and echoed off the ice.\n\nUUUUUUUOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooooo.\n\nThe sound faded slowly to silence. One blast meant rangers returning, and Jon thought,\nI was a ranger for one day, at least. Whatever may come, they cannot take that away\nfrom me.\n\nBowen Marsh was waiting at the first gate as they led their garrons through the icy\ntunnel. The Lord Steward was red-faced and agitated. “My lord,” he blurted at Mormont\nas he swung open the iron bars, “there’s been a bird, you must come at once.”\n\n“What is it, man?” Mormont said gruffly.\n\nCuriously, Marsh glanced at Jon before he answered. “Maester Aemon has the letter.\nHe’s waiting in your solar.”\n\n“Very well. Jon, see to my horse, and tell Ser Jaremy to put the dead men in a storeroom\nuntil the maester is ready for them.” Mormont strode away grumbling.\n\nAs they led their horses back to the stable, Jon was uncomfortably aware that people\nwere watching him. Ser Alliser Thorne was drilling his boys in the yard, but he broke off\nto stare at Jon, a faint half smile on his lips. One-armed Donal Noye stood in the door of\nthe armory. “The gods be with you, Snow,” he called out.\n\nSomething’s wrong, Jon thought. Something’s very wrong.\n\nThe dead men were carried to one of the storerooms along the base of the Wall, a dark\ncold cell chiseled from the ice and used to keep meat and grain and sometimes even\n"
## [513] "beer. Jon saw that Mormont’s horse was fed and watered and groomed before he took\ncare of his own. Afterward he sought out his friends. Grenn and Toad were on watch, but\nhe found Pyp in the common hall. “What’s happened?” he asked.\n\nPyp lowered his voice. “The king’s dead.”\n\nJon was stunned. Robert Baratheon had looked old and fat when he visited Winterfell,\nyet he’d seemed hale enough, and there’d been no talk of illness. “How can you know?”\n\n“One of the guards overheard Clydas reading the letter to Maester Aemon.” Pyp leaned\nclose. “Jon, I’m sorry. He was your father’s friend, wasn’t he?”\n\n“They were as close as brothers, once.” Jon wondered if Joffrey would keep his father as\nthe King’s Hand. It did not seem likely. That might mean Lord Eddard would return to\nWinterfell, and his sisters as well. He might even be allowed to visit them, with Lord\nMormont’s permission. It would be good to see Arya’s grin again and to talk with his\nfather. I will ask him about my mother, he resolved. I am a man now, it is past time he\ntold me. Even if she was a whore, I don’t care, I want to know.\n\n“I heard Hake say the dead men were your uncle’s,” Pyp said.\n\n“Yes,” Jon replied. “Two of the six he took with him. They’d been dead a long time,\nonly . . . the bodies are queer.”\n\n“Queer?” Pyp was all curiosity. “How queer?”\n\n“Sam will tell you.” Jon did not want to talk of it. “I should see if the Old Bear has need\nof me.”\n\nHe walked to the Lord Commander’s Tower alone, with a curious sense of apprehension.\nThe brothers on guard eyed him solemnly as he approached. “The Old Bear’s in his\nsolar,” one of them announced. “He was asking for you.”\n\nJon nodded. He should have come straight from the stable. He climbed the tower steps\nbriskly. He wants wine or a fire in his hearth, that’s all, he told himself.\n\nWhen he entered the solar, Mormont’s raven screamed at him. “Corn!” the bird\nshrieked. “Corn! Corn! Corn!”\n\n“Don’t you believe it, I just fed him,” the Old Bear growled. He was seated by the\nwindow, reading a letter. “Bring me a cup of wine, and pour one for yourself.”\n"
## [514] "“For myself, my lord?”\n\nMormont lifted his eyes from the letter to stare at Jon. There was pity in that look; he\ncould taste it. “You heard me.”\n\nJon poured with exaggerated care, vaguely aware that he was drawing out the act. When\nthe cups were filled, he would have no choice but to face whatever was in that letter. Yet\nall too soon, they were filled. “Sit, boy,” Mormont commanded him. “Drink.”\n\nJon remained standing. “It’s my father, isn’t it?”\n\nThe Old Bear tapped the letter with a finger. “Your father and the king,” he rumbled. “I\nwon’t lie to you, it’s grievous news. I never thought to see another king, not at my age,\nwith Robert half my years and strong as a bull.” He took a gulp of wine. “They say the\nking loved to hunt. The things we love destroy us every time, lad. Remember that. My\nson loved that young wife of his. Vain woman. If not for her, he would never have\nthought to sell those poachers.”\n\nJon could scarcely follow what he was saying. “My lord, I don’t understand. What’s\nhappened to my father?”\n\n“I told you to sit,” Mormont grumbled. “Sit,” the raven screamed. “And have a drink,\ndamn you. That’s a command, Snow.”\n\nJon sat, and took a sip of wine.\n\n“Lord Eddard has been imprisoned. He is charged with treason. It is said he plotted with\nRobert’s brothers to deny the throne to Prince Joffrey.”\n\n“No,” Jon said at once. “That couldn’t be. My father would never betray the king!”\n\n“Be that as it may,” said Mormont. “It is not for me to say. Nor for you.”\n\n“But it’s a lie,” Jon insisted. How could they think his father was a traitor, had they all\ngone mad? Lord Eddard Stark would never dishonor himself . . . would he?\n\nHe fathered a bastard, a small voice whispered inside him. Where was the honor in\nthat? And your mother, what of her? He will not even speak her name.\n\n“My lord, what will happen to him? Will they kill him?”\n"
## [515] "“As to that, I cannot say, lad. I mean to send a letter. I knew some of the king’s\ncouncillors in my youth. Old Pycelle, Lord Stannis, Ser Barristan . . . Whatever your\nfather has done, or hasn’t done, he is a great lord. He must be allowed to take the black\nand join us here. Gods knows, we need men of Lord Eddard’s ability.”\n\nJon knew that other men accused of treason had been allowed to redeem their honor on\nthe Wall in days past. Why not Lord Eddard? His father here. That was a strange\nthought, and strangely uncomfortable. It would be a monstrous injustice to strip him of\nWinterfell and force him to take the black, and yet if it meant his life . . .\n\nAnd would Joffrey allow it? He remembered the prince at Winterfell, the way he’d\nmocked Robb and Ser Rodrik in the yard. Jon himself he had scarcely even noticed;\nbastards were beneath even his contempt. “My lord, will the king listen to you?”\n\nThe Old Bear shrugged. “A boy king . . . I imagine he’ll listen to his mother. A pity the\ndwarf isn’t with them. He’s the lad’s uncle, and he saw our need when he visited us. It\nwas a bad thing, your lady mother taking him captive—”\n\n“Lady Stark is not my mother,” Jon reminded him sharply. Tyrion Lannister had been a\nfriend to him. If Lord Eddard was killed, she would be as much to blame as the queen.\n“My lord, what of my sisters? Arya and Sansa, they were with my father, do you know—”\n\n“Pycelle makes no mention of them, but doubtless they’ll be treated gently. I will ask\nabout them when I write.” Mormont shook his head. “This could not have happened at a\nworse time. If ever the realm needed a strong king . . . there are dark days and cold\nnights ahead, I feel it in my bones . . . ” He gave Jon a long shrewd look. “I hope you are\nnot thinking of doing anything stupid, boy.”\n\nHe’s my father, Jon wanted to say, but he knew that Mormont would not want to hear it.\nHis throat was dry. He made himself take another sip of wine.\n\n“Your duty is here now,” the Lord Commander reminded him. “Your old life ended when\nyou took the black.” His bird made a raucous echo. “Black.” Mormont took no notice.\n“Whatever they do in King’s Landing is none of our concern.” When Jon did not answer,\nthe old man finished his wine and said, “You’re free to go. I’ll have no further need of\nyou today. On the morrow you can help me write that letter.”\n\nJon did not remember standing or leaving the solar. The next he knew, he was\ndescending the tower steps, thinking, This is my father, my sisters, how can it be none\nof my concern?\n\nOutside, one of the guards looked at him and said, “Be strong, boy. The gods are cruel.”\n"
## [516] "They know, Jon realized. “My father is no traitor,” he said hoarsely. Even the words\nstuck in his throat, as if to choke him. The wind was rising, and it seemed colder in the\nyard than it had when he’d gone in. Spirit summer was drawing to an end.\n\nThe rest of the afternoon passed as if in a dream. Jon could not have said where he\nwalked, what he did, who he spoke with. Ghost was with him, he knew that much. The\nsilent presence of the direwolf gave him comfort. The girls do not even have that much,\nhe thought. Their wolves might have kept them safe, but Lady is dead and Nymeria’s\nlost, they’re all alone.\n\nA north wind had begun to blow by the time the sun went down. Jon could hear it\nskirling against the Wall and over the icy battlements as he went to the common hall for\nthe evening meal. Hobb had cooked up a venison stew, thick with barley, onions, and\ncarrots. When he spooned an extra portion onto Jon’s plate and gave him the crusty heel\nof the bread, he knew what it meant. He knows. He looked around the hall, saw heads\nturn quickly, eyes politely averted. They all know.\n\nHis friends rallied to him. “We asked the septon to light a candle for your father,”\nMatthar told him. “It’s a lie, we all know it’s a lie, even Grenn knows it’s a lie,” Pyp\nchimed in. Grenn nodded, and Sam clasped Jon’s hand, “You’re my brother now, so he’s\nmy father too,” the fat boy said. “If you want to go out to the weirwoods and pray to the\nold gods, I’ll go with you.”\n\nThe weirwoods were beyond the Wall, yet he knew Sam meant what he said. They are\nmy brothers, he thought. As much as Robb and Bran and Rickon . . .\n\nAnd then he heard the laughter, sharp and cruel as a whip, and the voice of Ser Alliser\nThorne. “Not only a bastard, but a traitor’s bastard,” he was telling the men around him.\n\nIn the blink of an eye, Jon had vaulted onto the table, dagger in his hand. Pyp made a\ngrab for him, but he wrenched his leg away, and then he was sprinting down the table\nand kicking the bowl from Ser Alliser’s hand. Stew went flying everywhere, spattering\nthe brothers. Thorne recoiled. People were shouting, but Jon Snow did not hear them.\nHe lunged at Ser Alliser’s face with the dagger, slashing at those cold onyx eyes, but Sam\nthrew himself between them and before Jon could get around him, Pyp was on his back\nclinging like a monkey, and Grenn was grabbing his arm while Toad wrenched the knife\nfrom his fingers.\n\nLater, much later, after they had marched him back to his sleeping cell, Mormont came\ndown to see him, raven on his shoulder. “I told you not to do anything stupid, boy,” the\nOld Bear said. “Boy,” the bird chorused. Mormont shook his head, disgusted. “And to\n"
## [517] "think I had high hopes for you.”\n\nThey took his knife and his sword and told him he was not to leave his cell until the high\nofficers met to decide what was to be done with him. And then they placed a guard\noutside his door to make certain he obeyed. His friends were not allowed to see him, but\nthe Old Bear did relent and permit him Ghost, so he was not utterly alone.\n\n“My father is no traitor,” he told the direwolf when the rest had gone. Ghost looked at\nhim in silence. Jon slumped against the wall, hands around his knees, and stared at the\ncandle on the table beside his narrow bed. The flame flickered and swayed, the shadows\nmoved around him, the room seemed to grow darker and colder. I will not sleep tonight,\nJon thought.\n\nYet he must have dozed. When he woke, his legs were stiff and cramped and the candle\nhad long since burned out. Ghost stood on his hind legs, scrabbling at the door. Jon was\nstartled to see how tall he’d grown. “Ghost, what is it?” he called softly. The direwolf\nturned his head and looked down at him, baring his fangs in a silent snarl. Has he gone\nmad? Jon wondered. “It’s me, Ghost,” he murmured, trying not to sound afraid. Yet he\nwas trembling, violently. When had it gotten so cold?\n\nGhost backed away from the door. There were deep gouges where he’d raked the wood.\nJon watched him with mounting disquiet. “There’s someone out there, isn’t there?” he\nwhispered. Crouching, the direwolf crept backward, white fur rising on the back of his\nneck. The guard, he thought, they left a man to guard my door, Ghost smells him\nthrough the door, that’s all it is.\n\nSlowly, Jon pushed himself to his feet. He was shivering uncontrollably, wishing he still\nhad a sword. Three quick steps brought him to the door. He grabbed the handle and\npulled it inward. The creak of the hinges almost made him jump.\n\nHis guard was sprawled bonelessly across the narrow steps, looking up at him. Looking\nup at him, even though he was lying on his stomach. His head had been twisted\ncompletely around.\n\nIt can’t be, Jon told himself. This is the Lord Commander’s Tower, it’s guarded day and\nnight, this couldn’t happen, it’s a dream, I’m having a nightmare.\n\nGhost slid past him, out the door. The wolf started up the steps, stopped, looked back at\nJon. That was when he heard it; the soft scrape of a boot on stone, the sound of a latch\nturning. The sounds came from above. From the Lord Commander’s chambers.\n\nA nightmare this might be, yet it was no dream.\n"
## [518] "The guard’s sword was in its sheath. Jon knelt and worked it free. The heft of steel in his\nfist made him bolder. He moved up the steps, Ghost padding silently before him.\nShadows lurked in every turn of the stair. Jon crept up warily, probing any suspicious\ndarkness with the point of his sword.\n\nSuddenly he heard the shriek of Mormont’s raven. “Corn,” the bird was screaming.\n“Corn, corn, corn, corn, corn, corn.” Ghost bounded ahead, and Jon came scrambling\nafter. The door to Mormont’s solar was wide open. The direwolf plunged through. Jon\nstopped in the doorway, blade in hand, giving his eyes a moment to adjust. Heavy drapes\nhad been pulled across the windows, and the darkness was black as ink. “Who’s there?”\nhe called out.\n\nThen he saw it, a shadow in the shadows, sliding toward the inner door that led to\nMormont’s sleeping cell, a man-shape all in black, cloaked and hooded . . . but beneath\nthe hood, its eyes shone with an icy blue radiance . . .\n\nGhost leapt. Man and wolf went down together with neither scream nor snarl, rolling,\nsmashing into a chair, knocking over a table laden with papers. Mormont’s raven was\nflapping overhead, screaming, “Corn, corn, corn, corn.” Jon felt as blind as Maester\nAemon. Keeping the wall to his back, he slid toward the window and ripped down the\ncurtain. Moonlight flooded the solar. He glimpsed black hands buried in white fur,\nswollen dark fingers tightening around his direwolf’s throat. Ghost was twisting and\nsnapping, legs flailing in the air, but he could not break free.\n\nJon had no time to be afraid. He threw himself forward, shouting, bringing down the\nlongsword with all his weight behind it. Steel sheared through sleeve and skin and bone,\nyet the sound was wrong somehow. The smell that engulfed him was so queer and cold\nhe almost gagged. He saw arm and hand on the floor, black fingers wriggling in a pool of\nmoonlight. Ghost wrenched free of the other hand and crept away, red tongue lolling\nfrom his mouth.\n\nThe hooded man lifted his pale moon face, and Jon slashed at it without hesitation. The\nsword laid the intruder open to the bone, taking off half his nose and opening a gash\ncheek to cheek under those eyes, eyes, eyes like blue stars burning. Jon knew that face.\nOthor, he thought, reeling back. Gods, he’s dead, he’s dead, I saw him dead.\n\nHe felt something scrabble at his ankle. Black fingers clawed at his calf. The arm was\ncrawling up his leg, ripping at wool and flesh. Shouting with revulsion, Jon pried the\nfingers off his leg with the point of his sword and flipped the thing away. It lay writhing,\nfingers opening and closing.\n"
## [519] "The corpse lurched forward. There was no blood. One-armed, face cut near in half, it\nseemed to feel nothing. Jon held the longsword before him. “Stay away!” he\ncommanded, his voice gone shrill. “Corn,” screamed the raven, “corn, corn.” The severed\narm was wriggling out of its torn sleeve, a pale snake with a black five-fingered head.\nGhost pounced and got it between his teeth. Finger bones crunched. Jon hacked at the\ncorpse’s neck, felt the steel bite deep and hard.\n\nDead Othor slammed into him, knocking him off his feet.\n\nJon’s breath went out of him as the fallen table caught him between his shoulder blades.\nThe sword, where was the sword? He’d lost the damned sword! When he opened his\nmouth to scream, the wight jammed its black corpse fingers into Jon’s mouth. Gagging,\nhe tried to shove it off, but the dead man was too heavy. Its hand forced itself farther\ndown his throat, icy cold, choking him. Its face was against his own, filling the world.\nFrost covered its eyes, sparkling blue. Jon raked cold flesh with his nails and kicked at\nthe thing’s legs. He tried to bite, tried to punch, tried to breathe . . .\n\nAnd suddenly the corpse’s weight was gone, its fingers ripped from his throat. It was all\nJon could do to roll over, retching and shaking.\n\nGhost had it again. He watched as the direwolf buried his teeth in the wight’s gut and\nbegan to rip and tear. He watched, only half conscious, for a long moment before he\nfinally remembered to look for his sword . . .\n\n . . . and saw Lord Mormont, naked and groggy from sleep, standing in the doorway with\nan oil lamp in hand. Gnawed and fingerless, the arm thrashed on the floor, wriggling\ntoward him.\n\nJon tried to shout, but his voice was gone. Staggering to his feet, he kicked the arm away\nand snatched the lamp from the Old Bear’s fingers. The flame flickered and almost died.\n“Burn!” the raven cawed. “Burn, burn, burn!”\n\nSpinning, Jon saw the drapes he’d ripped from the window. He flung the lamp into the\npuddled cloth with both hands. Metal crunched, glass shattered, oil spewed, and the\nhangings went up in a great whoosh of flame. The heat of it on his face was sweeter than\nany kiss Jon had ever known. “Ghost!” he shouted.\n\nThe direwolf wrenched free and came to him as the wight struggled to rise, dark snakes\nspilling from the great wound in its belly. Jon plunged his hand into the flames, grabbed\na fistful of the burning drapes, and whipped them at the dead man. Let it burn, he\nprayed as the cloth smothered the corpse, gods, please, please, let it burn.\n"
## [520] "previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [521] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n BRAN\nThe Karstarks came in on a cold windy morning, bringing three hundred horsemen and\nnear two thousand foot from their castle at Karhold. The steel points of their pikes\nwinked in the pale sunlight as the column approached. A man went before them,\npounding out a slow, deep-throated marching rhythm on a drum that was bigger than he\nwas, boom, boom, boom.\n\nBran watched them come from a guard turret atop the outer wall, peering through\nMaester Luwin’s bronze far-eye while perched on Hodor’s shoulders. Lord Rickard\nhimself led them, his sons Harrion and Eddard and Torrhen riding beside him beneath\nnight-black banners emblazoned with the white sunburst of their House. Old Nan said\nthey had Stark blood in them, going back hundreds of years, but they did not look like\nStarks to Bran. They were big men, and fierce, faces covered with thick beards, hair worn\nloose past the shoulders. Their cloaks were made of skins, the pelts of bear and seal and\nwolf.\n\nThey were the last, he knew. The other lords were already here, with their hosts. Bran\nyearned to ride out among them, to see the winter houses full to bursting, the jostling\ncrowds in the market square every morning, the streets rutted and torn by wheel and\nhoof. But Robb had forbidden him to leave the castle. “We have no men to spare to\nguard you,” his brother had explained.\n\n“I’ll take Summer,” Bran argued.\n\n“Don’t act the boy with me, Bran,” Robb said. “You know better than that. Only two days\nago one of Lord Bolton’s men knifed one of Lord Cerwyn’s at the Smoking Log. Our lady\nmother would skin me for a pelt if I let you put yourself at risk.” He was using the voice\nof Robb the Lord when he said it; Bran knew that meant there was no appeal.\n\nIt was because of what had happened in the wolfswood, he knew. The memory still gave\nhim bad dreams. He had been as helpless as a baby, no more able to defend himself than\nRickon would have been. Less, even . . . Rickon would have kicked them, at the least. It\nshamed him. He was only a few years younger than Robb; if his brother was almost a\nman grown, so was he. He should have been able to protect himself.\n\nA year ago, before, he would have visited the town even if it meant climbing over the\n"
## [522] "walls by himself. In those days he could run down stairs, get on and off his pony by\nhimself, and wield a wooden sword good enough to knock Prince Tommen in the dirt.\nNow he could only watch, peering out through Maester Luwin’s lens tube. The maester\nhad taught him all the banners: the mailed fist of the Glovers, silver on scarlet; Lady\nMormont’s black bear; the hideous flayed man that went before Roose Bolton of the\nDreadfort; a bull moose for the Hornwoods; a battle-axe for the Cerwyns; three sentinel\ntrees for the Tallharts; and the fearsome sigil of House Umber, a roaring giant in\nshattered chains.\n\nAnd soon enough he learned the faces too, when the lords and their sons and knights\nretainer came to Winterfell to feast. Even the Great Hall was not large enough to seat all\nof them at once, so Robb hosted each of the principal bannermen in turn. Bran was\nalways given the place of honor at his brother’s right hand. Some of the lords bannermen\ngave him queer hard stares as he sat there, as if they wondered by what right a green boy\nshould be placed above them, and him a cripple too.\n\n“How many is it now?” Bran asked Maester Luwin as Lord Karstark and his sons rode\nthrough the gates in the outer wall.\n\n“Twelve thousand men, or near enough as makes no matter.”\n\n“How many knights?”\n\n“Few enough,” the maester said with a touch of impatience. “To be a knight, you must\nstand your vigil in a sept, and be anointed with the seven oils to consecrate your vows. In\nthe north, only a few of the great houses worship the Seven. The rest honor the old gods,\nand name no knights . . . but those lords and their sons and sworn swords are no less\nfierce or loyal or honorable. A man’s worth is not marked by a ser before his name. As I\nhave told you a hundred times before.”\n\n“Still,” said Bran, “how many knights?”\n\nMaester Luwin sighed. “Three hundred, perhaps four . . . among three thousand\narmored lances who are not knights.”\n\n“Lord Karstark is the last,” Bran said thoughtfully. “Robb will feast him tonight.”\n\n“No doubt he will.”\n\n“How long before . . . before they go?”\n\n“He must march soon, or not at all,” Maester Luwin said. “The winter town is full to\n"
## [523] "bursting, and this army of his will eat the countryside clean if it camps here much\nlonger. Others are waiting to join him all along the kingsroad, barrow knights and\ncrannogmen and the Lords Manderly and Flint. The fighting has begun in the riverlands,\nand your brother has many leagues to go.”\n\n“I know.” Bran felt as miserable as he sounded. He handed the bronze tube back to the\nmaester, and noticed how thin Luwin’s hair had grown on top. He could see the pink of\nscalp showing through. It felt queer to look down on him this way, when he’d spent his\nwhole life looking up at him, but when you sat on Hodor’s back you looked down on\neveryone. “I don’t want to watch anymore. Hodor, take me back to the keep.”\n\n“Hodor,” said Hodor.\n\nMaester Luwin tucked the tube up his sleeve. “Bran, your lord brother will not have time\nto see you now. He must greet Lord Karstark and his sons and make them welcome.”\n\n“I won’t trouble Robb. I want to visit the godswood.” He put his hand on Hodor’s\nshoulder. “Hodor.”\n\nA series of chisel-cut handholds made a ladder in the granite of the tower’s inner wall.\nHodor hummed tunelessly as he went down hand under hand, Bran bouncing against\nhis back in the wicker seat that Maester Luwin had fashioned for him. Luwin had gotten\nthe idea from the baskets the women used to carry firewood on their backs; after that it\nhad been a simple matter of cutting legholes and attaching some new straps to spread\nBran’s weight more evenly. It was not as good as riding Dancer, but there were places\nDancer could not go, and this did not shame Bran the way it did when Hodor carried\nhim in his arms like a baby. Hodor seemed to like it too, though with Hodor it was hard\nto tell. The only tricky part was doors. Sometimes Hodor forgot that he had Bran on his\nback, and that could be painful when he went through a door.\n\nFor near a fortnight there had been so many comings and goings that Robb ordered both\nportcullises kept up and the drawbridge down between them, even in the dead of night.\nA long column of armored lancers was crossing the moat between the walls when Bran\nemerged from the tower; Karstark men, following their lords into the castle. They wore\nblack iron halfhelms and black woolen cloaks patterned with the white sunburst. Hodor\ntrotted along beside them, smiling to himself, his boots thudding against the wood of the\ndrawbridge. The riders gave them queer looks as they went by, and once Bran heard\nsomeone guffaw. He refused to let it trouble him. “Men will look at you,” Maester Luwin\nhad warned him the first time they had strapped the wicker basket around Hodor’s\nchest. “They will look, and they will talk, and some will mock you.” Let them mock, Bran\nthought. No one mocked him in his bedchamber, but he would not live his life in bed.\n"
## [524] "As they passed beneath the gatehouse portcullis, Bran put two fingers into his mouth\nand whistled. Summer came loping across the yard. Suddenly the Karstark lancers were\nfighting for control, as their horses rolled their eyes and whickered in dismay. One\nstallion reared, screaming, his rider cursing and hanging on desperately. The scent of the\ndirewolves sent horses into a frenzy of fear if they were not accustomed to it, but they’d\nquiet soon enough once Summer was gone. “The godswood,” Bran reminded Hodor.\n\nEven Winterfell itself was crowded. The yard rang to the sound of sword and axe, the\nrumble of wagons, and the barking of dogs. The armory doors were open, and Bran\nglimpsed Mikken at his forge, his hammer ringing as sweat dripped off his bare chest.\nBran had never seen as many strangers in all his years, not even when King Robert had\ncome to visit Father.\n\nHe tried not to flinch as Hodor ducked through a low door. They walked down a long\ndim hallway, Summer padding easily beside them. The wolf glanced up from time to\ntime, eyes smoldering like liquid gold. Bran would have liked to touch him, but he was\nriding too high for his hand to reach.\n\nThe godswood was an island of peace in the sea of chaos that Winterfell had become.\nHodor made his way through the dense stands of oak and ironwood and sentinels, to the\nstill pool beside the heart tree. He stopped under the gnarled limbs of the weirwood,\nhumming. Bran reached up over his head and pulled himself out of his seat, drawing the\ndead weight of his legs up through the holes in the wicker basket. He hung for a\nmoment, dangling, the dark red leaves brushing against his face, until Hodor lifted him\nand lowered him to the smooth stone beside the water. “I want to be by myself for a\nwhile,” he said. “You go soak. Go to the pools.”\n\n“Hodor.” Hodor stomped through the trees and vanished. Across the godswood, beneath\nthe windows of the Guest House, an underground hot spring fed three small ponds.\nSteam rose from the water day and night, and the wall that loomed above was thick with\nmoss. Hodor hated cold water, and would fight like a treed wildcat when threatened with\nsoap, but he would happily immerse himself in the hottest pool and sit for hours, giving\na loud burp to echo the spring whenever a bubble rose from the murky green depths to\nbreak upon the surface.\n\nSummer lapped at the water and settled down at Bran’s side. He rubbed the wolf under\nthe jaw, and for a moment boy and beast both felt at peace. Bran had always liked the\ngodswood, even before, but of late he found himself drawn to it more and more. Even\nthe heart tree no longer scared him the way it used to. The deep red eyes carved into the\npale trunk still watched him, yet somehow he took comfort from that now. The gods\nwere looking over him, he told himself; the old gods, gods of the Starks and the First\nMen and the children of the forest, his father’s gods. He felt safe in their sight, and the\n"
## [525] "deep silence of the trees helped him think. Bran had been thinking a lot since his fall;\nthinking, and dreaming, and talking with the gods.\n\n“Please make it so Robb won’t go away,” he prayed softly. He moved his hand through\nthe cold water, sending ripples across the pool. “Please make him stay. Or if he has to go,\nbring him home safe, with Mother and Father and the girls. And make it . . . make it so\nRickon understands.”\n\nHis baby brother had been wild as a winter storm since he learned Robb was riding off to\nwar, weeping and angry by turns. He’d refused to eat, cried and screamed for most of a\nnight, even punched Old Nan when she tried to sing him to sleep, and the next day he’d\nvanished. Robb had set half the castle searching for him, and when at last they’d found\nhim down in the crypts, Rickon had slashed at them with a rusted iron sword he’d\nsnatched from a dead king’s hand, and Shaggydog had come slavering out of the\ndarkness like a green-eyed demon. The wolf was near as wild as Rickon; he’d bitten Gage\non the arm and torn a chunk of flesh from Mikken’s thigh. It had taken Robb himself\nand Grey Wind to bring him to bay. Farlen had the black wolf chained up in the kennels\nnow, and Rickon cried all the more for being without him.\n\nMaester Luwin counseled Robb to remain at Winterfell, and Bran pleaded with him too,\nfor his own sake as much as Rickon’s, but his brother only shook his head stubbornly\nand said, “I don’t want to go. I have to.”\n\nIt was only half a lie. Someone had to go, to hold the Neck and help the Tullys against\nthe Lannisters, Bran could understand that, but it did not have to be Robb. His brother\nmight have given the command to Hal Mollen or Theon Greyjoy, or to one of his lords\nbannermen. Maester Luwin urged him to do just that, but Robb would not hear of it.\n“My lord father would never have sent men off to die while he huddled like a craven\nbehind the walls of Winterfell,” he said, all Robb the Lord.\n\nRobb seemed half a stranger to Bran now, transformed, a lord in truth, though he had\nnot yet seen his sixteenth name day. Even their father’s bannermen seemed to sense it.\nMany tried to test him, each in his own way. Roose Bolton and Robett Glover both\ndemanded the honor of battle command, the first brusquely, the second with a smile and\na jest. Stout, grey-haired Maege Mormont, dressed in mail like a man, told Robb bluntly\nthat he was young enough to be her grandson, and had no business giving her\ncommands . . . but as it happened, she had a granddaughter she would be willing to\nhave him marry. Soft-spoken Lord Cerwyn had actually brought his daughter with him,\na plump, homely maid of thirty years who sat at her father’s left hand and never lifted\nher eyes from her plate. Jovial Lord Hornwood had no daughters, but he did bring gifts,\na horse one day, a haunch of venison the next, a silver-chased hunting horn the day\nafter, and he asked nothing in return . . . nothing but a certain holdfast taken from his\n"
## [526] "grandfather, and hunting rights north of a certain ridge, and leave to dam the White\nKnife, if it please the lord.\n\nRobb answered each of them with cool courtesy, much as Father might have, and\nsomehow he bent them to his will.\n\nAnd when Lord Umber, who was called the Greatjon by his men and stood as tall as\nHodor and twice as wide, threatened to take his forces home if he was placed behind the\nHornwoods or the Cerwyns in the order of march, Robb told him he was welcome to do\nso. “And when we are done with the Lannisters,” he promised, scratching Grey Wind\nbehind the ear, “we will march back north, root you out of your keep, and hang you for\nan oathbreaker.” Cursing, the Greatjon flung a flagon of ale into the fire and bellowed\nthat Robb was so green he must piss grass. When Hallis Mollen moved to restrain him,\nhe knocked him to the floor, kicked over a table, and unsheathed the biggest, ugliest\ngreatsword that Bran had ever seen. All along the benches, his sons and brothers and\nsworn swords leapt to their feet, grabbing for their steel.\n\nYet Robb only said a quiet word, and in a snarl and the blink of an eye Lord Umber was\non his back, his sword spinning on the floor three feet away and his hand dripping blood\nwhere Grey Wind had bitten off two fingers. “My lord father taught me that it was death\nto bare steel against your liege lord,” Robb said, “but doubtless you only meant to cut my\nmeat.” Bran’s bowels went to water as the Greatjon struggled to rise, sucking at the red\nstumps of fingers . . . but then, astonishingly, the huge man laughed. “Your meat,” he\nroared, “is bloody tough.”\n\nAnd somehow after that the Greatjon became Robb’s right hand, his staunchest\nchampion, loudly telling all and sundry that the boy lord was a Stark after all, and they’d\ndamn well better bend their knees if they didn’t fancy having them chewed off.\n\nYet that very night, his brother came to Bran’s bedchamber pale and shaken, after the\nfires had burned low in the Great Hall. “I thought he was going to kill me,” Robb\nconfessed. “Did you see the way he threw down Hal, like he was no bigger than Rickon?\nGods, I was so scared. And the Greatjon’s not the worst of them, only the loudest. Lord\nRoose never says a word, he only looks at me, and all I can think of is that room they\nhave in the Dreadfort, where the Boltons hang the skins of their enemies.”\n\n“That’s just one of Old Nan’s stories,” Bran said. A note of doubt crept into his voice.\n“Isn’t it?”\n\n“I don’t know.” He gave a weary shake of his head. “Lord Cerwyn means to take his\ndaughter south with us. To cook for him, he says. Theon is certain I’ll find the girl in my\nbedroll one night. I wish . . . I wish Father was here . . . ”\n"
## [527] "That was the one thing they could agree on, Bran and Rickon and Robb the Lord; they all\nwished Father was here. But Lord Eddard was a thousand leagues away, a captive in\nsome dungeon, a hunted fugitive running for his life, or even dead. No one seemed to\nknow for certain; every traveler told a different tale, each more terrifying than the last.\nThe heads of Father’s guardsmen were rotting on the walls of the Red Keep, impaled on\nspikes. King Robert was dead at Father’s hands. The Baratheons had laid siege to King’s\nLanding. Lord Eddard had fled south with the king’s wicked brother Renly. Arya and\nSansa had been murdered by the Hound. Mother had killed Tyrion the Imp and hung his\nbody from the walls of Riverrun. Lord Tywin Lannister was marching on the Eyrie,\nburning and slaughtering as he went. One wine-sodden taleteller even claimed that\nRhaegar Targaryen had returned from the dead and was marshaling a vast host of\nancient heroes on Dragonstone to reclaim his father’s throne.\n\nWhen the raven came, bearing a letter marked with Father’s own seal and written in\nSansa’s hand, the cruel truth seemed no less incredible. Bran would never forget the look\non Robb’s face as he stared at their sister’s words. “She says Father conspired at treason\nwith the king’s brothers,” he read. “King Robert is dead, and Mother and I are\nsummoned to the Red Keep to swear fealty to Joffrey. She says we must be loyal, and\nwhen she marries Joffrey she will plead with him to spare our lord father’s life.” His\nfingers closed into a fist, crushing Sansa’s letter between them. “And she says nothing of\nArya, nothing, not so much as a word. Damn her! What’s wrong with the girl?”\n\nBran felt all cold inside. “She lost her wolf,” he said, weakly, remembering the day when\nfour of his father’s guardsmen had returned from the south with Lady’s bones. Summer\nand Grey Wind and Shaggydog had begun to howl before they crossed the drawbridge, in\nvoices drawn and desolate. Beneath the shadow of the First Keep was an ancient\nlichyard, its headstones spotted with pale lichen, where the old Kings of Winter had laid\ntheir faithful servants. It was there they buried Lady, while her brothers stalked between\nthe graves like restless shadows. She had gone south, and only her bones had returned.\n\nTheir grandfather, old Lord Rickard, had gone as well, with his son Brandon who was\nFather’s brother, and two hundred of his best men. None had ever returned. And Father\nhad gone south, with Arya and Sansa, and Jory and Hullen and Fat Tom and the rest,\nand later Mother and Ser Rodrik had gone, and they hadn’t come back either. And now\nRobb meant to go. Not to King’s Landing and not to swear fealty, but to Riverrun, with a\nsword in his hand. And if their lord father were truly a prisoner, that could mean his\ndeath for a certainty. It frightened Bran more than he could say.\n\n“If Robb has to go, watch over him,” Bran entreated the old gods, as they watched him\nwith the heart tree’s red eyes, “and watch over his men, Hal and Quent and the rest, and\nLord Umber and Lady Mormont and the other lords. And Theon too, I suppose. Watch\nthem and keep them safe, if it please you, gods. Help them defeat the Lannisters and\n"
## [528] "save Father and bring them home.”\n\nA faint wind sighed through the godswood and the red leaves stirred and whispered.\nSummer bared his teeth. “You hear them, boy?” a voice asked.\n\nBran lifted his head. Osha stood across the pool, beneath an ancient oak, her face\nshadowed by leaves. Even in irons, the wildling moved quiet as a cat. Summer circled the\npool, sniffed at her. The tall woman flinched.\n\n“Summer, to me,” Bran called. The direwolf took one final sniff, spun, and bounded\nback. Bran wrapped his arms around him. “What are you doing here?” He had not seen\nOsha since they’d taken her captive in the wolfswood, though he knew she’d been set to\nworking in the kitchens.\n\n“They are my gods too,” Osha said. “Beyond the Wall, they are the only gods.” Her hair\nwas growing out, brown and shaggy. It made her look more womanly, that and the\nsimple dress of brown roughspun they’d given her when they took her mail and leather.\n“Gage lets me have my prayers from time to time, when I feel the need, and I let him do\nas he likes under my skirt, when he feels the need. It’s nothing to me. I like the smell of\nflour on his hands, and he’s gentler than Stiv.” She gave an awkward bow. “I’ll leave you.\nThere’s pots that want scouring.”\n\n“No, stay,” Bran commanded her. “Tell me what you meant, about hearing the gods.”\n\nOsha studied him. “You asked them and they’re answering. Open your ears, listen, you’ll\nhear.”\n\nBran listened. “It’s only the wind,” he said after a moment, uncertain. “The leaves are\nrustling.”\n\n“Who do you think sends the wind, if not the gods?” She seated herself across the pool\nfrom him, clinking faintly as she moved. Mikken had fixed iron manacles to her ankles,\nwith a heavy chain between them; she could walk, so long as she kept her strides small,\nbut there was no way for her to run, or climb, or mount a horse. “They see you, boy. They\nhear you talking. That rustling, that’s them talking back.”\n\n“What are they saying?”\n\n“They’re sad. Your lord brother will get no help from them, not where he’s going. The old\ngods have no power in the south. The weirwoods there were all cut down, thousands of\nyears ago. How can they watch your brother when they have no eyes?”\n"
## [529] "Bran had not thought of that. It frightened him. If even the gods could not help his\nbrother, what hope was there? Maybe Osha wasn’t hearing them right. He cocked his\nhead and tried to listen again. He thought he could hear the sadness now, but nothing\nmore than that.\n\nThe rustling grew louder. Bran heard muffled footfalls and a low humming, and Hodor\ncame blundering out of the trees, naked and smiling. “Hodor!”\n\n“He must have heard our voices,” Bran said. “Hodor, you forgot your clothes.”\n\n“Hodor,” Hodor agreed. He was dripping wet from the neck down, steaming in the chill\nair. His body was covered with brown hair, thick as a pelt. Between his legs, his\nmanhood swung long and heavy.\n\nOsha eyed him with a sour smile. “Now there’s a big man,” she said. “He has giant’s\nblood in him, or I’m the queen.”\n\n“Maester Luwin says there are no more giants. He says they’re all dead, like the children\nof the forest. All that’s left of them are old bones in the earth that men turn up with\nplows from time to time.”\n\n“Let Maester Luwin ride beyond the Wall,” Osha said. “He’ll find giants then, or they’ll\nfind him. My brother killed one. Ten foot tall she was, and stunted at that. They’ve been\nknown to grow big as twelve and thirteen feet. Fierce things they are too, all hair and\nteeth, and the wives have beards like their husbands, so there’s no telling them apart.\nThe women take human men for lovers, and it’s from them the half bloods come. It goes\nharder on the women they catch. The men are so big they’ll rip a maid apart before they\nget her with child.” She grinned at him. “But you don’t know what I mean, do you, boy?”\n\n“Yes I do,” Bran insisted. He understood about mating; he had seen dogs in the yard,\nand watched a stallion mount a mare. But talking about it made him uncomfortable. He\nlooked at Hodor. “Go back and bring your clothes, Hodor,” he said. “Go dress.”\n\n“Hodor.” He walked back the way he had come, ducking under a low-hanging tree limb.\n\nHe was awfully big, Bran thought as he watched him go. “Are there truly giants beyond\nthe Wall?” he asked Osha, uncertainly.\n\n“Giants and worse than giants, Lordling. I tried to tell your brother when he asked his\nquestions, him and your maester and that smiley boy Greyjoy. The cold winds are rising,\nand men go out from their fires and never come back . . . or if they do, they’re not men\nno more, but only wights, with blue eyes and cold black hands. Why do you think I run\n"
## [530] "south with Stiv and Hali and the rest of them fools? Mance thinks he’ll fight, the brave\nsweet stubborn man, like the white walkers were no more than rangers, but what does\nhe know? He can call himself King-beyond-the-Wall all he likes, but he’s still just\nanother old black crow who flew down from the Shadow Tower. He’s never tasted\nwinter. I was born up there, child, like my mother and her mother before her and her\nmother before her, born of the Free Folk. We remember.” Osha stood, her chains rattling\ntogether. “I tried to tell your lordling brother. Only yesterday, when I saw him in the\nyard. ‘M’lord Stark,’ I called to him, respectful as you please, but he looked through me,\nand that sweaty oaf Greatjon Umber shoves me out of the path. So be it. I’ll wear my\nirons and hold my tongue. A man who won’t listen can’t hear.”\n\n“Tell me. Robb will listen to me, I know he will.”\n\n“Will he now? We’ll see. You tell him this, m’lord. You tell him he’s bound on marching\nthe wrong way. It’s north he should be taking his swords. North, not south. You hear\nme?”\n\nBran nodded. “I’ll tell him.”\n\nBut that night, when they feasted in the Great Hall, Robb was not with them. He took his\nmeal in the solar instead, with Lord Rickard and the Greatjon and the other lords\nbannermen, to make the final plans for the long march to come. It was left to Bran to fill\nhis place at the head of the table, and act the host to Lord Karstark’s sons and honored\nfriends. They were already at their places when Hodor carried Bran into the hall on his\nback, and knelt beside the high seat. Two of the serving men helped lift him from his\nbasket. Bran could feel the eyes of every stranger in the hall. It had grown quiet. “My\nlords,” Hallis Mollen announced, “Brandon Stark, of Winterfell.”\n\n“I welcome you to our fires,” Bran said stiffly, “and offer you meat and mead in honor of\nour friendship.”\n\nHarrion Karstark, the oldest of Lord Rickard’s sons, bowed, and his brothers after him,\nyet as they settled back in their places he heard the younger two talking in low voices,\nover the clatter of wine cups. “ . . . sooner die than live like that,” muttered one, his\nfather’s namesake Eddard, and his brother Torrhen said likely the boy was broken inside\nas well as out, too craven to take his own life.\n\nBroken, Bran thought bitterly as he clutched his knife. Is that what he was now? Bran\nthe Broken? “I don’t want to be broken,” he whispered fiercely to Maester Luwin, who’d\nbeen seated to his right. “I want to be a knight.”\n\n“There are some who call my order the knights of the mind,” Luwin replied. “You are a\n"
## [531] "surpassing clever boy when you work at it, Bran. Have you ever thought that you might\nwear a maester’s chain? There is no limit to what you might learn.”\n\n“I want to learn magic,” Bran told him. “The crow promised that I would fly.”\n\nMaester Luwin sighed. “I can teach you history, healing, herblore. I can teach you the\nspeech of ravens, and how to build a castle, and the way a sailor steers his ship by the\nstars. I can teach you to measure the days and mark the seasons, and at the Citadel in\nOldtown they can teach you a thousand things more. But, Bran, no man can teach you\nmagic.”\n\n“The children could,” Bran said. “The children of the forest.” That reminded him of the\npromise he had made to Osha in the godswood, so he told Luwin what she had said.\n\nThe maester listened politely. “The wildling woman could give Old Nan lessons in telling\ntales, I think,” he said when Bran was done. “I will talk with her again if you like, but it\nwould be best if you did not trouble your brother with this folly. He has more than\nenough to concern him without fretting over giants and dead men in the woods. It’s the\nLannisters who hold your lord father, Bran, not the children of the forest.” He put a\ngentle hand on Bran’s arm. “Think on what I said, child.”\n\nAnd two days later, as a red dawn broke across a windswept sky, Bran found himself in\nthe yard beneath the gatehouse, strapped atop Dancer as he said his farewells to his\nbrother.\n\n“You are the lord in Winterfell now,” Robb told him. He was mounted on a shaggy grey\nstallion, his shield hung from the horse’s side; wood banded with iron, white and grey,\nand on it the snarling face of a direwolf. His brother wore grey chainmail over bleached\nleathers, sword and dagger at his waist, a fur-trimmed cloak across his shoulders. “You\nmust take my place, as I took Father’s, until we come home.”\n\n“I know,” Bran replied miserably. He had never felt so little or alone or scared. He did\nnot know how to be a lord.\n\n“Listen to Maester Luwin’s counsel, and take care of Rickon. Tell him that I’ll be back as\nsoon as the fighting is done.”\n\nRickon had refused to come down. He was up in his chamber, redeyed and defiant. “No!”\nhe’d screamed when Bran had asked if he didn’t want to say farewell to Robb. “NO\nfarewell!”\n\n“I told him,” Bran said. “He says no one ever comes back.”\n"
## [532] "“He can’t be a baby forever. He’s a Stark, and near four.” Robb sighed. “Well, Mother\nwill be home soon. And I’ll bring back Father, I promise.”\n\nHe wheeled his courser around and trotted away. Grey Wind followed, loping beside the\nwarhorse, lean and swift. Hallis Mollen went before them through the gate, carrying the\nrippling white banner of House Stark atop a high standard of grey ash. Theon Greyjoy\nand the Greatjon fell in on either side of Robb, and their knights formed up in a double\ncolumn behind them, steel-tipped lances glinting in the sun.\n\nUncomfortably, he remembered Osha’s words. He’s marching the wrong way, he\nthought. For an instant he wanted to gallop after him and shout a warning, but when\nRobb vanished beneath the portcullis, the moment was gone.\n\nBeyond the castle walls, a roar of sound went up. The foot soldiers and townsfolk were\ncheering Robb as he rode past, Bran knew; cheering for Lord Stark, for the Lord of\nWinterfell on his great stallion, with his cloak streaming and Grey Wind racing beside\nhim. They would never cheer for him that way, he realized with a dull ache. He might be\nthe lord in Winterfell while his brother and father were gone, but he was still Bran the\nBroken. He could not even get off his own horse, except to fall.\n\nWhen the distant cheers had faded to silence and the yard was empty at last, Winterfell\nseemed deserted and dead. Bran looked around at the faces of those who remained,\nwomen and children and old men . . . and Hodor. The huge stableboy had a lost and\nfrightened look to his face. “Hodor?” he said sadly.\n\n“Hodor,” Bran agreed, wondering what it meant.\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [533] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n DAENERYS\nWhen he had taken his pleasure, Khal Drogo rose from their sleeping mats to tower\nabove her. His skin shone dark as bronze in the ruddy light from the brazier, the faint\nlines of old scars visible on his broad chest. Ink-black hair, loose and unbound, cascaded\nover his shoulders and down his back, well past his waist. His manhood glistened wetly.\nThe khal’s mouth twisted in a frown beneath the droop of his long mustachio. “The\nstallion who mounts the world has no need of iron chairs.”\n\nDany propped herself on an elbow to look up at him, so tall and magnificent. She loved\nhis hair especially. It had never been cut; he had never known defeat. “It was prophesied\nthat the stallion will ride to the ends of the earth,” she said.\n\n“The earth ends at the black salt sea,” Drogo answered at once. He wet a cloth in a basin\nof warm water to wipe the sweat and oil from his skin. “No horse can cross the poison\nwater.”\n\n“In the Free Cities, there are ships by the thousand,” Dany told him, as she had told him\nbefore. “Wooden horses with a hundred legs, that fly across the sea on wings full of\nwind.”\n\nKhal Drogo did not want to hear it. “We will speak no more of wooden horses and iron\nchairs.” He dropped the cloth and began to dress. “This day I will go to the grass and\nhunt, woman wife,” he announced as he shrugged into a painted vest and buckled on a\nwide belt with heavy medallions of silver, gold, and bronze.\n\n“Yes, my sun-and-stars,” Dany said. Drogo would take his bloodriders and ride in search\nof hrakkar, the great white lion of the plains. If they returned triumphant, her lord\nhusband’s joy would be fierce, and he might be willing to hear her out.\n\nSavage beasts he did not fear, nor any man who had ever drawn breath, but the sea was a\ndifferent matter. To the Dothraki, water that a horse could not drink was something\nfoul; the heaving grey-green plains of the ocean filled them with superstitious loathing.\nDrogo was a bolder man than the other horselords in half a hundred ways, she had\nfound . . . but not in this. If only she could get him onto a ship . . .\n\nAfter the khal and his bloodriders had ridden off with their bows, Dany summoned her\n"
## [534] "handmaids. Her body felt so fat and ungainly now that she welcomed the help of their\nstrong arms and deft hands, whereas before she had often been uncomfortable with the\nway they fussed and fluttered about her. They scrubbed her clean and dressed her in\nsandsilk, loose and flowing. As Doreah combed out her hair, she sent Jhiqui to find Ser\nJorah Mormont.\n\nThe knight came at once. He wore horsehair leggings and painted vest, like a rider.\nCoarse black hair covered his thick chest and muscular arms. “My princess. How may I\nserve you?”\n\n“You must talk to my lord husband,” Dany said. “Drogo says the stallion who mounts the\nworld will have all the lands of the earth to rule, and no need to cross the poison water.\nHe talks of leading his khalasar east after Rhaego is born, to plunder the lands around\nthe Jade Sea.”\n\nThe knight looked thoughtful. “The khal has never seen the Seven Kingdoms,” he said.\n“They are nothing to him. If he thinks of them at all, no doubt he thinks of islands, a few\nsmall cities clinging to rocks in the manner of Lorath or Lys, surrounded by stormy seas.\nThe riches of the east must seem a more tempting prospect.”\n\n“But he must ride west,” Dany said, despairing. “Please, help me make him understand.”\nShe had never seen the Seven Kingdoms either, no more than Drogo, yet she felt as\nthough she knew them from all the tales her brother had told her. Viserys had promised\nher a thousand times that he would take her back one day, but he was dead now and his\npromises had died with him.\n\n“The Dothraki do things in their own time, for their own reasons,” the knight answered.\n“Have patience, Princess. Do not make your brother’s mistake. We will go home, I\npromise you.”\n\nHome? The word made her feel sad. Ser Jorah had his Bear Island, but what was home\nto her? A few tales, names recited as solemnly as the words of a prayer, the fading\nmemory of a red door . . . was Vaes Dothrak to be her home forever? When she looked at\nthe crones of the dosh khaleen, was she looking at her future?\n\nSer Jorah must have seen the sadness on her face. “A great caravan arrived during the\nnight, Khaleesi. Four hundred horses, from Pentos by way of Norvos and Qohor, under\nthe command of Merchant Captain Byan Votyris. Illyrio may have sent a letter. Would\nyou care to visit the Western Market?”\n\nDany stirred. “Yes,” she said. “I would like that.” The markets came alive when a caravan\nhad come in. You could never tell what treasures the traders might bring this time, and it\n"
## [535] "would be good to hear men speaking Valyrian again, as they did in the Free Cities. “Irri,\nhave them prepare a litter.”\n\n“I shall tell your khas,” Ser Jorah said, withdrawing.\n\nIf Khal Drogo had been with her, Dany would have ridden her silver. Among the\nDothraki, mothers stayed on horseback almost up to the moment of birth, and she did\nnot want to seem weak in her husband’s eyes. But with the khal off hunting, it was\npleasant to lie back on soft cushions and be carried across Vaes Dothrak, with red silk\ncurtains to shield her from the sun. Ser Jorah saddled up and rode beside her, with the\nfour young men of her khas and her handmaids.\n\nThe day was warm and cloudless, the sky a deep blue. When the wind blew, she could\nsmell the rich scents of grass and earth. As her litter passed beneath the stolen\nmonuments, she went from sunlight to shadow and back again. Dany swayed along,\nstudying the faces of dead heroes and forgotten kings. She wondered if the gods of\nburned cities could still answer prayers.\n\nIf I were not the blood of the dragon, she thought wistfully, this could be my home. She\nwas khaleesi, she had a strong man and a swift horse, handmaids to serve her, warriors\nto keep her safe, an honored place in the dosh khaleen awaiting her when she grew\nold . . . and in her womb grew a son who would one day bestride the world. That should\nbe enough for any woman . . . but not for the dragon. With Viserys gone, Daenerys was\nthe last, the very last. She was the seed of kings and conquerors, and so too the child\ninside her. She must not forget.\n\nThe Western Market was a great square of beaten earth surrounded by warrens of mud-\nbaked brick, animal pens, whitewashed drinking halls. Hummocks rose from the ground\nlike the backs of great subterranean beasts breaking the surface, yawning black mouths\nleading down to cool and cavernous storerooms below. The interior of the square was a\nmaze of stalls and crookback aisles, shaded by awnings of woven grass.\n\nA hundred merchants and traders were unloading their goods and setting up in stalls\nwhen they arrived, yet even so the great market seemed hushed and deserted compared\nto the teeming bazaars that Dany remembered from Pentos and the other Free Cities.\nThe caravans made their way to Vaes Dothrak from east and west not so much to sell to\nthe Dothraki as to trade with each other, Ser Jorah had explained. The riders let them\ncome and go unmolested, so long as they observed the peace of the sacred city, did not\nprofane the Mother of Mountains or the Womb of the World, and honored the crones of\nthe dosh khaleen with the traditional gifts of salt, silver, and seed. The Dothraki did not\ntruly comprehend this business of buying and selling.\n"
## [536] "Dany liked the strangeness of the Eastern Market too, with all its queer sights and\nsounds and smells. She often spent her mornings there, nibbling tree eggs, locust pie,\nand green noodles, listening to the high ululating voices of the spellsingers, gaping at\nmanticores in silver cages and immense grey elephants and the striped black-and-white\nhorses of the Jogos Nhai. She enjoyed watching all the people too: dark solemn Asshai’i\nand tall pale Qartheen, the bright-eyed men of Yi Ti in monkey-tail hats, warrior maids\nfrom Bayasabhad, Shamyriana, and Kayakayanaya with iron rings in their nipples and\nrubies in their cheeks, even the dour and frightening Shadow Men, who covered their\narms and legs and chests with tattoos and hid their faces behind masks. The Eastern\nMarket was a place of wonder and magic for Dany.\n\nBut the Western Market smelled of home.\n\nAs Irri and Jhiqui helped her from her litter, she sniffed, and recognized the sharp odors\nof garlic and pepper, scents that reminded Dany of days long gone in the alleys of Tyrosh\nand Myr and brought a fond smile to her face. Under that she smelled the heady sweet\nperfumes of Lys. She saw slaves carrying bolts of intricate Myrish lace and fine wools in\na dozen rich colors. Caravan guards wandered among the aisles in copper helmets and\nknee-length tunics of quilted yellow cotton, empty scabbards swinging from their woven\nleather belts. Behind one stall an armorer displayed steel breastplates worked with gold\nand silver in ornate patterns, and helms hammered in the shapes of fanciful beasts. Next\nto him was a pretty young woman selling Lannisport goldwork, rings and brooches and\ntorcs and exquisitely wrought medallions suitable for belting. A huge eunuch guarded\nher stall, mute and hairless, dressed in sweat-stained velvets and scowling at anyone\nwho came close. Across the aisle, a fat cloth trader from Yi Ti was haggling with a\nPentoshi over the price of some green dye, the monkey tail on his hat swaying back and\nforth as he shook his head.\n\n“When I was a little girl, I loved to play in the bazaar,” Dany told Ser Jorah as they\nwandered down the shady aisle between the stalls. “It was so alive there, all the people\nshouting and laughing, so many wonderful things to look at . . . though we seldom had\nenough coin to buy anything . . . well, except for a sausage now and again, or\nhoneyfingers . . . do they have honeyfingers in the Seven Kingdoms, the kind they bake\nin Tyrosh?”\n\n“Cakes, are they? I could not say, Princess.” The knight bowed. “If you would pardon me\nfor a time, I will seek out the captain and see if he has letters for us.”\n\n“Very well. I’ll help you find him.”\n\n“There is no need for you to trouble yourself.” Ser Jorah glanced away impatiently.\n“Enjoy the market. I will rejoin you when my business is concluded.”\n"
## [537] "Curious, Dany thought as she watched him stride off through the throngs. She didn’t see\nwhy she should not go with him. Perhaps Ser Jorah meant to find a woman after he met\nwith the merchant captain. Whores frequently traveled with the caravans, she knew, and\nsome men were queerly shy about their couplings. She gave a shrug. “Come,” she told\nthe others.\n\nHer handmaids trailed along as Dany resumed her stroll through the market. “Oh, look,”\nshe exclaimed to Doreah, “those are the kind of sausages I meant.” She pointed to a stall\nwhere a wizened little woman was grilling meat and onions on a hot firestone. “They\nmake them with lots of garlic and hot peppers.” Delighted with her discovery, Dany\ninsisted the others join her for a sausage. Her handmaids wolfed theirs down giggling\nand grinning, though the men of her khas sniffed at the grilled meat suspiciously. “They\ntaste different than I remember,” Dany said after her first few bites.\n\n“In Pentos, I make them with pork,” the old woman said, “but all my pigs died on the\nDothraki sea. These are made of horsemeat, Khaleesi, but I spice them the same.”\n\n“Oh.” Dany felt disappointed, but Quaro liked his sausage so well he decided to have\nanother one, and Rakharo had to outdo him and eat three more, belching loudly. Dany\ngiggled.\n\n“You have not laughed since your brother the Khal Rhaggat was crowned by Drogo,”\nsaid Irri. “It is good to see, Khaleesi.”\n\nDany smiled shyly. It was sweet to laugh. She felt half a girl again.\n\nThey wandered for half the morning. She saw a beautiful feathered cloak from the\nSummer Isles, and took it for a gift. In return, she gave the merchant a silver medallion\nfrom her belt. That was how it was done among the Dothraki. A birdseller taught a green-\nand-red parrot to say her name, and Dany laughed again, yet still refused to take him.\nWhat would she do with a green-and-red parrot in a khalasar? She did take a dozen\nflasks of scented oils, the perfumes of her childhood; she had only to close her eyes and\nsniff them and she could see the big house with the red door once more. When Doreah\nlooked longingly at a fertility charm at a magician’s booth, Dany took that too and gave it\nto the handmaid, thinking that now she should find something for Irri and Jhiqui as well.\n\nTurning a corner, they came upon a wine merchant offering thimble-sized cups of his\nwares to the passersby. “Sweet reds,” he cried in fluent Dothraki, “I have sweet reds,\nfrom Lys and Volantis and the Arbor. Whites from Lys, Tyroshi pear brandy, firewine,\npepperwine, the pale green nectars of Myr. Smokeberry browns and Andalish sours, I\nhave them, I have them.” He was a small man, slender and handsome, his flaxen hair\ncurled and perfumed after the fashion of Lys. When Dany paused before his stall, he\n"
## [538] "bowed low. “A taste for the khaleesi? I have a sweet red from Dorne, my lady, it sings of\nplums and cherries and rich dark oak. A cask, a cup, a swallow? One taste, and you will\nname your child after me.”\n\nDany smiled. “My son has his name, but I will try your summerwine,” she said in\nValyrian, Valyrian as they spoke it in the Free Cities. The words felt strange on her\ntongue, after so long. “Just a taste, if you would be so kind.”\n\nThe merchant must have taken her for Dothraki, with her clothes and her oiled hair and\nsun-browned skin. When she spoke, he gaped at her in astonishment. “My lady, you\nare . . . Tyroshi? Can it be so?”\n\n“My speech may be Tyroshi, and my garb Dothraki, but I am of Westeros, of the Sunset\nKingdoms,” Dany told him.\n\nDoreah stepped up beside her. “You have the honor to address Daenerys of the House\nTargaryen, Daenerys Stormborn, khaleesi of the riding men and princess of the Seven\nKingdoms.”\n\nThe wine merchant dropped to his knees. “Princess,” he said, bowing his head.\n\n“Rise,” Dany commanded him. “I would still like to taste that summerwine you spoke of.”\n\nThe man bounded to his feet. “That? Dornish swill. It is not worthy of a princess. I have\na dry red from the Arbor, crisp and delectable. Please, let me give you a cask.”\n\nKhal Drogo’s visits to the Free Cities had given him a taste for good wine, and Dany\nknew that such a noble vintage would please him. “You honor me, ser,” she murmured\nsweetly.\n\n“The honor is mine.” The merchant rummaged about in the back of his stall and\nproduced a small oaken cask. Burned into the wood was a cluster of grapes. “The\nRedwyne sigil,” he said, pointing, “for the Arbor. There is no finer drink.”\n\n“Khal Drogo and I will share it together. Aggo, take this back to my litter, if you’d be so\nkind.” The wineseller beamed as the Dothraki hefted the cask.\n\nShe did not realize that Ser Jorah had returned until she heard the knight say, “No.” His\nvoice was strange, brusque. “Aggo, put down that cask.”\n\nAggo looked at Dany. She gave a hesitant nod. “Ser Jorah, is something wrong?”\n"
## [539] "“I have a thirst. Open it, wineseller.”\n\nThe merchant frowned. “The wine is for the khaleesi, not for the likes of you, ser.”\n\nSer Jorah moved closer to the stall. “If you don’t open it, I’ll crack it open with your\nhead.” He carried no weapons here in the sacred city, save his hands—yet his hands were\nenough, big, hard, dangerous, his knuckles covered with coarse dark hairs. The\nwineseller hesitated a moment, then took up his hammer and knocked the plug from the\ncask.\n\n“Pour,” Ser Jorah commanded. The four young warriors of Dany’s khas arrayed\nthemselves behind him, frowning, watching with their dark, almond-shaped eyes.\n\n“It would be a crime to drink this rich a wine without letting it breathe.” The wineseller\nhad not put his hammer down.\n\nJhogo reached for the whip coiled at his belt, but Dany stopped him with a light touch on\nthe arm. “Do as Ser Jorah says,” she said. People were stopping to watch.\n\nThe man gave her a quick, sullen glance. “As the princess commands.” He had to set\naside his hammer to lift the cask. He filled two thimble-sized tasting cups, pouring so\ndeftly he did not spill a drop.\n\nSer Jorah lifted a cup and sniffed at the wine, frowning.\n\n“Sweet, isn’t it?” the wineseller said, smiling. “Can you smell the fruit, ser? The perfume\nof the Arbor. Taste it, my lord, and tell me it isn’t the finest, richest wine that’s ever\ntouched your tongue.”\n\nSer Jorah offered him the cup. “You taste it first.”\n\n“Me?” The man laughed. “I am not worthy of this vintage, my lord. And it’s a poor wine\nmerchant who drinks up his own wares.” His smile was amiable, yet she could see the\nsheen of sweat on his brow.\n\n“You will drink,” Dany said, cold as ice. “Empty the cup, or I will tell them to hold you\ndown while Ser Jorah pours the whole cask down your throat.”\n\nThe wineseller shrugged, reached for the cup . . . and grabbed the cask instead, flinging it\nat her with both hands. Ser Jorah bulled into her, knocking her out of the way. The cask\nbounced off his shoulder and smashed open on the ground. Dany stumbled and lost her\n"
## [540] "feet. “No,” she screamed, thrusting her hands out to break her fall . . . and Doreah caught\nher by the arm and wrenched her backward, so she landed on her legs and not her belly.\n\nThe trader vaulted over the stall, darting between Aggo and Rakharo. Quaro reached for\nan arakh that was not there as the blond man slammed him aside. He raced down the\naisle. Dany heard the snap of Jhogo’s whip, saw the leather lick out and coil around the\nwineseller’s leg. The man sprawled face first in the dirt.\n\nA dozen caravan guards had come running. With them was the master himself,\nMerchant Captain Byan Votyris, a diminutive Norvoshi with skin like old leather and a\nbristling blue mustachio that swept up to his ears. He seemed to know what had\nhappened without a word being spoken. “Take this one away to await the pleasure of the\nkhal,” he commanded, gesturing at the man on the ground. Two guards hauled the\nwineseller to his feet. “His goods I gift to you as well, Princess,” the merchant captain\nwent on. “Small token of regret, that one of mine would do this thing.”\n\nDoreah and Jhiqui helped Dany back to her feet. The poisoned wine was leaking from\nthe broken cask into the dirt. “How did you know?” she asked Ser Jorah, trembling.\n“How?”\n\n“I did not know, Khaleesi, not until the man refused to drink, but once I read Magister\nIllyrio’s letter, I feared.” His dark eyes swept over the faces of the strangers in the\nmarket. “Come. Best not to talk of it here.”\n\nDany was near tears as they carried her back. The taste in her mouth was one she had\nknown before: fear. For years she had lived in terror of Viserys, afraid of waking the\ndragon. This was even worse. It was not just for herself that she feared now, but for her\nbaby. He must have sensed her fright, for he moved restlessly inside her. Dany stroked\nthe swell of her belly gently, wishing she could reach him, touch him, soothe him. “You\nare the blood of the dragon, little one,” she whispered as her litter swayed along, curtains\ndrawn tight. “You are the blood of the dragon, and the dragon does not fear.”\n\nUnder the hollow hummock of earth that was her home in Vaes Dothrak, Dany ordered\nthem to leave her—all but Ser Jorah. “Tell me,” she commanded as she lowered herself\nonto her cushions. “Was it the Usurper?”\n\n“Yes.” The knight drew out a folded parchment. “A letter to Viserys, from Magister\nIllyrio. Robert Baratheon offers lands and lordships for your death, or your brother’s.”\n\n“My brother?” Her sob was half a laugh. “He does not know yet, does he? The Usurper\nowes Drogo a lordship.” This time her laugh was half a sob. She hugged herself\nprotectively. “And me, you said. Only me?”\n"
## [541] "“You and the child,” Ser Jorah said, grim.\n\n“No. He cannot have my son.” She would not weep, she decided. She would not shiver\nwith fear. The Usurper has woken the dragon now, she told herself . . . and her eyes\nwent to the dragon’s eggs resting in their nest of dark velvet. The shifting lamplight\nlimned their stony scales, and shimmering motes of jade and scarlet and gold swam in\nthe air around them, like courtiers around a king.\n\nWas it madness that seized her then, born of fear? Or some strange wisdom buried in\nher blood? Dany could not have said. She heard her own voice saying, “Ser Jorah, light\nthe brazier.”\n\n“Khaleesi?” The knight looked at her strangely. “It is so hot. Are you certain?”\n\nShe had never been so certain. “Yes. I . . . I have a chill. Light the brazier.”\n\nHe bowed. “As you command.”\n\nWhen the coals were afire, Dany sent Ser Jorah from her. She had to be alone to do what\nshe must do. This is madness, she told herself as she lifted the black-and-scarlet egg\nfrom the velvet. It will only crack and burn, and it’s so beautiful, Ser Jorah will call me\na fool if I ruin it, and yet, and yet . . .\n\nCradling the egg with both hands, she carried it to the fire and pushed it down amongst\nthe burning coals. The black scales seemed to glow as they drank the heat. Flames licked\nagainst the stone with small red tongues. Dany placed the other two eggs beside the\nblack one in the fire. As she stepped back from the brazier, the breath trembled in her\nthroat.\n\nShe watched until the coals had turned to ashes. Drifting sparks floated up and out of\nthe smokehole. Heat shimmered in waves around the dragon’s eggs. And that was all.\n\nYour brother Rhaegar was the last dragon, Ser Jorah had said. Dany gazed at her eggs\nsadly. What had she expected? A thousand thousand years ago they had been alive, but\nnow they were only pretty rocks. They could not make a dragon. A dragon was air and\nfire. Living flesh, not dead stone.\n\nThe brazier was cold again by the time Khal Drogo returned. Cohollo was leading a\npackhorse behind him, with the carcass of a great white lion slung across its back.\nAbove, the stars were coming out. The khal laughed as he swung down off his stallion\nand showed her the scars on his leg where the hrakkar had raked him through his\n"
## [542] "leggings. “I shall make you a cloak of its skin, moon of my life,” he swore.\n\nWhen Dany told him what had happened at the market, all laughter stopped, and Khal\nDrogo grew very quiet.\n\n“This poisoner was the first,” Ser Jorah Mormont warned him, “but he will not be the\nlast. Men will risk much for a lordship.”\n\nDrogo was silent for a time. Finally he said, “This seller of poisons ran from the moon of\nmy life. Better he should run after her. So he will. Jhogo, Jorah the Andal, to each of you\nI say, choose any horse you wish from my herds, and it is yours. Any horse save my red\nand the silver that was my bride gift to the moon of my life. I make this gift to you for\nwhat you did.\n\n“And to Rhaego son of Drogo, the stallion who will mount the world, to him I also pledge\na gift. To him I will give this iron chair his mother’s father sat in. I will give him Seven\nKingdoms. I, Drogo, khal, will do this thing.” His voice rose, and he lifted his fist to the\nsky. “I will take my khalasar west to where the world ends, and ride the wooden horses\nacross the black salt water as no khal has done before. I will kill the men in the iron suits\nand tear down their stone houses. I will rape their women, take their children as slaves,\nand bring their broken gods back to Vaes Dothrak to bow down beneath the Mother of\nMountains. This I vow, I, Drogo son of Bharbo. This I swear before the Mother of\nMountains, as the stars look down in witness.”\n\nHis khalasar left Vaes Dothrak two days later, striking south and west across the plains.\nKhal Drogo led them on his great red stallion, with Daenerys beside him on her silver.\nThe wineseller hurried behind them, naked, on foot, chained at throat and wrists. His\nchains were fastened to the halter of Dany’s silver. As she rode, he ran after her, barefoot\nand stumbling. No harm would come to him . . . so long as he kept up.\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [543] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n CATELYN\nIt was too far to make out the banners clearly, but even through the drifting fog she\ncould see that they were white, with a dark smudge in their center that could only be the\ndirewolf of Stark, grey upon its icy field. When she saw it with her own eyes, Catelyn\nreined up her horse and bowed her head in thanks. The gods were good. She was not too\nlate.\n\n“They await our coming, my lady,” Ser Wylis Manderly said, “as my lord father swore\nthey would.”\n\n“Let us not keep them waiting any longer, ser.” Ser Brynden Tully put the spurs to his\nhorse and trotted briskly toward the banners. Catelyn rode beside him.\n\nSer Wylis and his brother Ser Wendel followed, leading their levies, near fifteen hundred\nmen: some twenty-odd knights and as many squires, two hundred mounted lances,\nswordsmen, and freeriders, and the rest foot, armed with spears, pikes and tridents.\nLord Wyman had remained behind to see to the defenses of White Harbor. A man of\nnear sixty years, he had grown too stout to sit a horse. “If I had thought to see war again\nin my lifetime, I should have eaten a few less eels,” he’d told Catelyn when he met her\nship, slapping his massive belly with both hands. His fingers were fat as sausages. “My\nboys will see you safe to your son, though, have no fear.”\n\nHis “boys” were both older than Catelyn, and she might have wished that they did not\ntake after their father quite so closely. Ser Wylis was only a few eels short of not being\nable to mount his own horse; she pitied the poor animal. Ser Wendel, the younger boy,\nwould have been the fattest man she’d ever known, had she only neglected to meet his\nfather and brother. Wylis was quiet and formal, Wendel loud and boisterous; both had\nostentatious walrus mustaches and heads as bare as a baby’s bottom; neither seemed to\nown a single garment that was not spotted with food stains. Yet she liked them well\nenough; they had gotten her to Robb, as their father had vowed, and nothing else\nmattered.\n\nShe was pleased to see that her son had sent eyes out, even to the east. The Lannisters\nwould come from the south when they came, but it was good that Robb was being\ncareful. My son is leading a host to war, she thought, still only half believing it. She was\ndesperately afraid for him, and for Winterfell, yet she could not deny feeling a certain\n"
## [544] "pride as well. A year ago he had been a boy. What was he now? she wondered.\n\nOutriders spied the Manderly banners—the white merman with trident in hand, rising\nfrom a blue-green sea—and hailed them warmly. They were led to a spot of high ground\ndry enough for a camp. Ser Wylis called a halt there, and remained behind with his men\nto see the fires laid and the horses tended, while his brother Wendel rode on with\nCatelyn and her uncle to present their father’s respects to their liege lord.\n\nThe ground under their horses’ hooves was soft and wet. It fell away slowly beneath\nthem as they rode past smoky peat fires, lines of horses, and wagons heavy-laden with\nhardbread and salt beef. On a stony outcrop of land higher than the surrounding\ncountry, they passed a lord’s pavilion with walls of heavy sailcloth. Catelyn recognized\nthe banner, the bull moose of the Hornwoods, brown on its dark orange field.\n\nJust beyond, through the mists, she glimpsed the walls and towers of Moat Cailin . . . or\nwhat remained of them. Immense blocks of black basalt, each as large as a crofter’s\ncottage, lay scattered and tumbled like a child’s wooden blocks, half-sunk in the soft\nboggy soil. Nothing else remained of a curtain wall that had once stood as high as\nWinterfell’s. The wooden keep was gone entirely, rotted away a thousand years past,\nwith not so much as a timber to mark where it had stood. All that was left of the great\nstronghold of the First Men were three towers . . . three where there had once been\ntwenty, if the taletellers could be believed.\n\nThe Gatehouse Tower looked sound enough, and even boasted a few feet of standing wall\nto either side of it. The Drunkard’s Tower, off in the bog where the south and west walls\nhad once met, leaned like a man about to spew a bellyful of wine into the gutter. And the\ntall, slender Children’s Tower, where legend said the children of the forest had once\ncalled upon their nameless gods to send the hammer of the waters, had lost half its\ncrown. It looked as if some great beast had taken a bite out of the crenellations along the\ntower top, and spit the rubble across the bog. All three towers were green with moss. A\ntree was growing out between the stones on the north side of the Gatehouse Tower, its\ngnarled limbs festooned with ropy white blankets of ghostskin.\n\n“Gods have mercy,” Ser Brynden exclaimed when he saw what lay before them. “This is\nMoat Cailin? It’s no more than a—”\n\n“—death trap,” Catelyn finished. “I know how it looks, Uncle. I thought the same the first\ntime I saw it, but Ned assured me that this ruin is more formidable than it seems. The\nthree surviving towers command the causeway from all sides, and any enemy must pass\nbetween them. The bogs here are impenetrable, full of quicksands and suckholes and\nteeming with snakes. To assault any of the towers, an army would need to wade through\nwaist-deep black muck, cross a moat full of lizard-lions, and scale walls slimy with moss,\n"
## [545] "all the while exposing themselves to fire from archers in the other towers.” She gave her\nuncle a grim smile. “And when night falls, there are said to be ghosts, cold vengeful\nspirits of the north who hunger for southron blood.”\n\nSer Brynden chuckled. “Remind me not to linger here. Last I looked, I was southron\nmyself.”\n\nStandards had been raised atop all three towers. The Karstark sunburst hung from the\nDrunkard’s Tower, beneath the direwolf; on the Children’s Tower it was the Greatjon’s\ngiant in shattered chains. But on the Gatehouse Tower, the Stark banner flew alone. That\nwas where Robb had made his seat. Catelyn made for it, with Ser Brynden and Ser\nWendel behind her, their horses stepping slowly down the log-and-plank road that had\nbeen laid across the green-and-black fields of mud.\n\nShe found her son surrounded by his father’s lords bannermen, in a drafty hall with a\npeat fire smoking in a black hearth. He was seated at a massive stone table, a pile of\nmaps and papers in front of him, talking intently with Roose Bolton and the Greatjon. At\nfirst he did not notice her . . . but his wolf did. The great grey beast was lying near the\nfire, but when Catelyn entered he lifted his head, and his golden eyes met hers. The lords\nfell silent one by one, and Robb looked up at the sudden quiet and saw her. “Mother?” he\nsaid, his voice thick with emotion.\n\nCatelyn wanted to run to him, to kiss his sweet brow, to wrap him in her arms and hold\nhim so tightly that he would never come to harm . . . but here in front of his lords, she\ndared not. He was playing a man’s part now, and she would not take that away from\nhim. So she held herself at the far end of the basalt slab they were using for a table. The\ndirewolf got to his feet and padded across the room to where she stood. It seemed bigger\nthan a wolf ought to be. “You’ve grown a beard,” she said to Robb, while Grey Wind\nsniffed her hand.\n\nHe rubbed his stubbled jaw, suddenly awkward. “Yes.” His chin hairs were redder than\nthe ones on his head.\n\n“I like it.” Catelyn stroked the wolfs head, gently. “It makes you look like my brother\nEdmure.” Grey Wind nipped at her fingers, playful, and trotted back to his place by the\nfire.\n\nSer Helman Tallhart was the first to follow the direwolf across the room to pay his\nrespects, kneeling before her and pressing his brow to her hand. “Lady Catelyn,” he said,\n“you are fair as ever, a welcome sight in troubled times.” The Glovers followed, Galbart\nand Robett, and Greatjon Umber, and the rest, one by one. Theon Greyjoy was the last.\n“I had not looked to see you here, my lady,” he said as he knelt.\n"
## [546] "“I had not thought to be here,” Catelyn said, “until I came ashore at White Harbor, and\nLord Wyman told me that Robb had called the banners. You know his son, Ser Wendel.”\nWendel Manderly stepped forward and bowed as low as his girth would allow. “And my\nuncle, Ser Brynden Tully, who has left my sister’s service for mine.”\n\n“The Blackfish,” Robb said. “Thank you for joining us, ser. We need men of your\ncourage. And you, Ser Wendel, I am glad to have you here. Is Ser Rodrik with you as\nwell, Mother? I’ve missed him.”\n\n“Ser Rodrik is on his way north from White Harbor. I have named him castellan and\ncommanded him to hold Winterfell till our return. Maester Luwin is a wise counsellor,\nbut unskilled in the arts of war.”\n\n“Have no fear on that count, Lady Stark,” the Greatjon told her in his bass rumble.\n“Winterfell is safe. We’ll shove our swords up Tywin Lannister’s bunghole soon enough,\nbegging your pardons, and then it’s on to the Red Keep to free Ned.”\n\n“My lady, a question, as it please you.” Roose Bolton, Lord of the Dreadfort, had a small\nvoice, yet when he spoke larger men quieted to listen. His eyes were curiously pale,\nalmost without color, and his look disturbing. “It is said that you hold Lord Tywin’s\ndwarf son as captive. Have you brought him to us? I vow, we should make good use of\nsuch a hostage.”\n\n“I did hold Tyrion Lannister, but no longer,” Catelyn was forced to admit. A chorus of\nconsternation greeted the news. “I was no more pleased than you, my lords. The gods\nsaw fit to free him, with some help from my fool of a sister.” She ought not to be so open\nin her contempt, she knew, but her parting from the Eyrie had not been pleasant. She\nhad offered to take Lord Robert with her, to foster him at Winterfell for a few years. The\ncompany of other boys would do him good, she had dared to suggest. Lysa’s rage had\nbeen frightening to behold. “Sister or no,” she had replied, “if you try to steal my son,\nyou will leave by the Moon Door.” After that there was no more to be said.\n\nThe lords were anxious to question her further, but Catelyn raised a hand. “No doubt we\nwill have time for all this later, but my journey has fatigued me. I would speak with my\nson alone. I know you will forgive me, my lords.” She gave them no choice; led by the\never-obliging Lord Hornwood, the bannermen bowed and took their leave. “And you,\nTheon,” she added when Greyjoy lingered. He smiled and left them.\n\nThere was ale and cheese on the table. Catelyn tilled a horn, sat, sipped, and studied her\nson. He seemed taller than when she’d left, and the wisps of beard did make him look\nolder. “Edmure was sixteen when he grew his first whiskers.”\n"
## [547] "“I will be sixteen soon enough,” Robb said.\n\n“And you are fifteen now. Fifteen, and leading a host to battle. Can you understand why I\nmight fear, Robb?”\n\nHis look grew stubborn. “There was no one else.”\n\n“No one?” she said. “Pray, who were those men I saw here a moment ago? Roose Bolton,\nRickard Karstark, Galbart and Robett Glover, the Greatjon, Helman Tallhart . . . you\nmight have given the command to any of them. Gods be good, you might even have sent\nTheon, though he would not be my choice.”\n\n“They are not Starks,” he said.\n\n“They are men, Robb, seasoned in battle. You were fighting with wooden swords less\nthan a year past.”\n\nShe saw anger in his eyes at that, but it was gone as quick as it came, and suddenly he\nwas a boy again. “I know,” he said, abashed. “Are you . . . are you sending me back to\nWinterfell?”\n\nCatelyn sighed. “I should. You ought never have left. Yet I dare not, not now. You have\ncome too far. Someday these lords will look to you as their liege. If I pack you off now,\nlike a child being sent to bed without his supper, they will remember, and laugh about it\nin their cups. The day will come when you need them to respect you, even fear you a\nlittle. Laughter is poison to fear. I will not do that to you, much as I might wish to keep\nyou safe.”\n\n“You have my thanks, Mother,” he said, his relief obvious beneath the formality.\n\nShe reached across his table and touched his hair. “You are my firstborn, Robb. I have\nonly to look at you to remember the day you came into the world, red-faced and\nsqualling.”\n\nHe rose, clearly uncomfortable with her touch, and walked to the hearth. Grey Wind\nrubbed his head against his leg. “You know . . . about Father?”\n\n“Yes.” The reports of Robert’s sudden death and Ned’s fall had frightened Catelyn more\nthan she could say, but she would not let her son see her fear. “Lord Manderly told me\nwhen I landed at White Harbor. Have you had any word of your sisters?”\n"
## [548] "“There was a letter,” Robb said, scratching his direwolf under the jaw. “One for you as\nwell, but it came to Winterfell with mine.” He went to the table, rummaged among some\nmaps and papers, and returned with a crumpled parchment. “This is the one she wrote\nme, I never thought to bring yours.”\n\nSomething in Robb’s tone troubled her. She smoothed out the paper and read. Concern\ngave way to disbelief, then to anger, and lastly to fear. “This is Cersei’s letter, not your\nsister’s,” she said when she was done. “The real message is in what Sansa does not say.\nAll this about how kindly and gently the Lannisters are treating her . . . I know the sound\nof a threat, even whispered. They have Sansa hostage, and they mean to keep her.”\n\n“There’s no mention of Arya,” Robb pointed out, miserable.\n\n“No.” Catelyn did not want to think what that might mean, not now, not here.\n\n“I had hoped . . . if you still held the Imp, a trade of hostages . . . ” He took Sansa’s letter\nand crumpled it in his fist, and she could tell from the way he did it that it was not the\nfirst time. “Is there word from the Eyrie? I wrote to Aunt Lysa, asking help. Has she\ncalled Lord Arryn’s banners, do you know? Will the knights of the Vale come join us?”\n\n“Only one,” she said, “the best of them, my uncle . . . but Brynden Blackfish was a Tully\nfirst. My sister is not about to stir beyond her Bloody Gate.”\n\nRobb took it hard. “Mother, what are we going to do? I brought this whole army\ntogether, eighteen thousand men, but I don’t . . . I’m not certain . . . ” He looked to her,\nhis eyes shining, the proud young lord melted away in an instant, and quick as that he\nwas a child again, a fifteen-year-old boy looking to his mother for answers.\n\nIt would not do.\n\n“What are you so afraid of, Robb?” she asked gently.\n\n“I . . . ” He turned his head away, to hide the first tear. “If we march . . . even if we\nwin . . . the Lannisters hold Sansa, and Father. They’ll kill them, won’t they?”\n\n“They want us to think so.”\n\n“You mean they’re lying?”\n\n“I do not know, Robb. What I do know is that you have no choice. If you go to King’s\nLanding and swear fealty, you will never be allowed to leave. If you turn your tail and\nretreat to Winterfell, your lords will lose all respect for you. Some may even go over to\n"
## [549] "the Lannisters. Then the queen, with that much less to fear, can do as she likes with her\nprisoners. Our best hope, our only true hope, is that you can defeat the foe in the field. If\nyou should chance to take Lord Tywin or the Kingslayer captive, why then a trade might\nvery well be possible, but that is not the heart of it. So long as you have power enough\nthat they must fear you, Ned and your sister should be safe. Cersei is wise enough to\nknow that she may need them to make her peace, should the fighting go against her.”\n\n“What if the fighting doesn’t go against her?” Robb asked. “What if it goes against us?”\n\nCatelyn took his hand. “Robb, I will not soften the truth for you. If you lose, there is no\nhope for any of us. They say there is naught but stone at the heart of Casterly Rock.\nRemember the fate of Rhaegar’s children.”\n\nShe saw the fear in his young eyes then, but there was a strength as well. “Then I will not\nlose,” he vowed.\n\n“Tell me what you know of the fighting in the riverlands,” she said. She had to learn if he\nwas truly ready.\n\n“Less than a fortnight past, they fought a battle in the hills below the Golden Tooth,”\nRobb said. “Uncle Edmure had sent Lord Vance and Lord Piper to hold the pass, but the\nKingslayer descended on them and put them to flight. Lord Vance was slain. The last\nword we had was that Lord Piper was falling back to join your brother and his other\nbannermen at Riverrun, with Jaime Lannister on his heels. That’s not the worst of it,\nthough. All the time they were battling in the pass, Lord Tywin was bringing a second\nLannister army around from the south. It’s said to be even larger than Jaime’s host.\n\n“Father must have known that, because he sent out some men to oppose them, under the\nking’s own banner. He gave the command to some southron lordling, Lord Erik or Derik\nor something like that, but Ser Raymun Darry rode with him, and the letter said there\nwere other knights as well, and a force of Father’s own guardsmen. Only it was a trap.\nLord Derik had no sooner crossed the Red Fork than the Lannisters fell upon him, the\nking’s banner be damned, and Gregor Clegane took them in the rear as they tried to pull\nback across the Mummer’s Ford. This Lord Derik and a few others may have escaped, no\none is certain, but Ser Raymun was killed, and most of our men from Winterfell. Lord\nTywin has closed off the kingsroad, it’s said, and now he’s marching north toward\nHarrenhal, burning as he goes.”\n\nGrim and grimmer, thought Catelyn. It was worse than she’d imagined. “You mean to\nmeet him here?” she asked.\n\n“If he comes so far, but no one thinks he will,” Robb said. “I’ve sent word to Howland\n"
## [550] "Reed, Father’s old friend at Greywater Watch. If the Lannisters come up the Neck, the\ncrannogmen will bleed them every step of the way, but Galbart Glover says Lord Tywin\nis too smart for that, and Roose Bolton agrees. He’ll stay close to the Trident, they\nbelieve, taking the castles of the river lords one by one, until Riverrun stands alone. We\nneed to march south to meet him.”\n\nThe very idea of it chilled Catelyn to the bone. What chance would a fifteen-year-old boy\nhave against seasoned battle commanders like Jaime and Tywin Lannister? “Is that\nwise? You are strongly placed here. It’s said that the old Kings in the North could stand\nat Moat Cailin and throw back hosts ten times the size of their own.”\n\n“Yes, but our food and supplies are running low, and this is not land we can live off\neasily. We’ve been waiting for Lord Manderly, but now that his sons have joined us, we\nneed to march.”\n\nShe was hearing the lords bannermen speaking with her son’s voice, she realized. Over\nthe years, she had hosted many of them at Winterfell, and been welcomed with Ned to\ntheir own hearths and tables. She knew what sorts of men they were, each one. She\nwondered if Robb did.\n\nAnd yet there was sense in what they said. This host her son had assembled was not a\nstanding army such as the Free Cities were accustomed to maintain, nor a force of\nguardsmen paid in coin. Most of them were smallfolk: crofters, fieldhands, fishermen,\nsheepherders, the sons of innkeeps and traders and tanners, leavened with a smattering\nof sellswords and freeriders hungry for plunder. When their lords called, they\ncame . . . but not forever. “Marching is all very well,” she said to her son, “but where, and\nto what purpose? What do you mean to do?”\n\nRobb hesitated. “The Greatjon thinks we should take the battle to Lord Tywin and\nsurprise him,” he said, “but the Glovers and the Karstarks feel we’d be wiser to go\naround his army and join up with Uncle Ser Edmure against the Kingslayer.” He ran his\nfingers through his shaggy mane of auburn hair, looking unhappy. “Though by the time\nwe reach Riverrun . . . I’m not certain . . . ”\n\n“Be certain,” Catelyn told her son, “or go home and take up that wooden sword again.\nYou cannot afford to seem indecisive in front of men like Roose Bolton and Rickard\nKarstark. Make no mistake, Robb—these are your bannermen, not your friends. You\nnamed yourself battle commander. Command.”\n\nHer son looked at her, startled, as if he could not credit what he was hearing. “As you\nsay, Mother.”\n"
## [551] "“I’ll ask you again. What do you mean to do?”\n\nRobb drew a map across the table, a ragged piece of old leather covered with lines of\nfaded paint. One end curled up from being rolled; he weighed it down with his dagger.\n“Both plans have virtues, but . . . look, if we try to swing around Lord Tywin’s host, we\ntake the risk of being caught between him and the Kingslayer, and if we attack him . . . by\nall reports, he has more men than I do, and a lot more armored horse. The Greatjon says\nthat won’t matter if we catch him with his breeches down, but it seems to me that a man\nwho has fought as many battles as Tywin Lannister won’t be so easily surprised.”\n\n“Good,” she said. She could hear echoes of Ned in his voice, as he sat there, puzzling over\nthe map. “Tell me more.”\n\n“I’d leave a small force here to hold Moat Cailin, archers mostly, and march the rest\ndown the causeway,” he said, “but once we’re below the Neck, I’d split our host in two.\nThe foot can continue down the kingsroad, while our horsemen cross the Green Fork at\nthe Twins.” He pointed. “When Lord Tywin gets word that we’ve come south, he’ll march\nnorth to engage our main host, leaving our riders free to hurry down the west bank to\nRiverrun.” Robb sat back, not quite daring to smile, but pleased with himself and hungry\nfor her praise.\n\nCatelyn frowned down at the map. “You’d put a river between the two parts of your\narmy.”\n\n“And between Jaime and Lord Tywin,” he said eagerly. The smile came at last. “There’s\nno crossing on the Green Fork above the ruby ford, where Robert won his crown. Not\nuntil the Twins, all the way up here, and Lord Frey controls that bridge. He’s your\nfather’s bannerman, isn’t that so?”\n\nThe Late Lord Frey, Catelyn thought. “He is,” she admitted, “but my father has never\ntrusted him. Nor should you.”\n\n“I won’t,” Robb promised. “What do you think?”\n\nShe was impressed despite herself. He looks like a Tully, she thought, yet he’s still his\nfather’s son, and Ned taught him well. “Which force would you command?”\n\n“The horse,” he answered at once. Again like his father; Ned would always take the more\ndangerous task himself.\n\n“And the other?”\n"
## [552] "“The Greatjon is always saying that we should smash Lord Tywin. I thought I’d give him\nthe honor.”\n\nIt was his first misstep, but how to make him see it without wounding his fledgling\nconfidence? “Your father once told me that the Greatjon was as fearless as any man he\nhad ever known.”\n\nRobb grinned. “Grey Wind ate two of his fingers, and he laughed about it. So you agree,\nthen?”\n\n“Your father is not fearless,” Catelyn pointed out. “He is brave, but that is very different.”\n\nHer son considered that for a moment. “The eastern host will be all that stands between\nLord Tywin and Winterfell,” he said thoughtfully. “Well, them and whatever few\nbowmen I leave here at the Moat. So I don’t want someone fearless, do I?”\n\n“No. You want cold cunning, I should think, not courage.”\n\n“Roose Bolton,” Robb said at once. “That man scares me.”\n\n“Then let us pray he will scare Tywin Lannister as well.”\n\nRobb nodded and rolled up the map. “I’ll give the commands, and assemble an escort to\ntake you home to Winterfell.”\n\nCatelyn had fought to keep herself strong, for Ned’s sake and for this stubborn brave son\nof theirs. She had put despair and fear aside, as if they were garments she did not choose\nto wear . . . but now she saw that she had donned them after all.\n\n“I am not going to Winterfell,” she heard herself say, surprised at the sudden rush of\ntears that blurred her vision. “My father may be dying behind the walls of Riverrun. My\nbrother is surrounded by foes. I must go to them.”\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [553] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n TYRION\nChella daughter of Cheyk of the Black Ears had gone ahead to scout, and it was she who\nbrought back word of the army at the crossroads. “By their fires I call them twenty\nthousand strong,” she said. “Their banners are red, with a golden lion.”\n\n“Your father?” Bronn asked.\n\n“Or my brother Jaime,” Tyrion said. “We shall know soon enough.” He surveyed his\nragged band of brigands: near three hundred Stone Crows, Moon Brothers, Black Ears,\nand Burned Men, and those just the seed of the army he hoped to grow. Gunthor son of\nGurn was raising the other clans even now. He wondered what his lord father would\nmake of them in their skins and bits of stolen steel. If truth be told, he did not know\nwhat to make of them himself. Was he their commander or their captive? Most of the\ntime, it seemed to be a little of both. “It might be best if I rode down alone,” he suggested.\n\n“Best for Tyrion son of Tywin,” said Ulf, who spoke for the Moon Brothers.\n\nShagga glowered, a fearsome sight to see. “Shagga son of Dolf likes this not. Shagga will\ngo with the boyman, and if the boyman lies, Shagga will chop off his manhood—”\n\n“—and feed it to the goats, yes,” Tyrion said wearily. “Shagga, I give you my word as a\nLannister, I will return.”\n\n“Why should we trust your word?” Chella was a small hard woman, flat as a boy, and no\nfool. “Lowland lords have lied to the clans before.”\n\n“You wound me, Chella,” Tyrion said. “Here I thought we had become such friends. But\nas you will. You shall ride with me, and Shagga and Conn for the Stone Crows, Ulf for the\nMoon Brothers, and Timett son of Timett for the Burned Men.” The clansmen\nexchanged wary looks as he named them. “The rest shall wait here until I send for you.\nTry not to kill and maim each other while I’m gone.”\n\nHe put his heels to his horse and trotted off, giving them no choice but to follow or be\nleft behind. Either was fine with him, so long as they did not sit down to talk for a day\nand a night. That was the trouble with the clans; they had an absurd notion that every\nman’s voice should be heard in council, so they argued about everything, endlessly.\n"
## [554] "Even their women were allowed to speak. Small wonder that it had been hundreds of\nyears since they last threatened the Vale with anything beyond an occasional raid.\nTyrion meant to change that.\n\nBrorm rode with him. Behind them—after a quick bit of grumbling—the five clansmen\nfollowed on their undersize garrons, scrawny things that looked like ponies and\nscrambled up rock walls like goats.\n\nThe Stone Crows rode together, and Chella and Ulf stayed close as well, as the Moon\nBrothers and Black Ears had strong bonds between them. Timett son of Timett rode\nalone. Every clan in the Mountains of the Moon feared the Burned Men, who mortified\ntheir flesh with fire to prove their courage and (the others said) roasted babies at their\nfeasts. And even the other Burned Men feared Timett, who had put out his own left eye\nwith a white-hot knife when he reached the age of manhood. Tyrion gathered that it was\nmore customary for a boy to burn off a nipple, a finger, or (if he was truly brave, or truly\nmad) an ear. Timett’s fellow Burned Men were so awed by his choice of an eye that they\npromptly named him a red hand, which seemed to be some sort of a war chief.\n\n“I wonder what their king burned off,” Tyrion said to Bronn when he heard the tale.\nGrinning, the sellsword had tugged at his crotch . . . but even Bronn kept a respectful\ntongue around Timett. If a man was mad enough to put out his own eye, he was unlikely\nto be gentle to his enemies.\n\nDistant watchers peered down from towers of unmortared stone as the party descended\nthrough the foothills, and once Tyrion saw a raven take wing. Where the high road\ntwisted between two rocky outcrops, they came to the first strong point. A low earthen\nwall four feet high closed off the road, and a dozen crossbowmen manned the heights.\nTyrion halted his followers out of range and rode to the wall alone. “Who commands\nhere?” he shouted up.\n\nThe captain was quick to appear, and even quicker to give them an escort when he\nrecognized his lord’s son. They trotted past blackened fields and burned holdfasts, down\nto the riverlands and the Green Fork of the Trident. Tyrion saw no bodies, but the air\nwas full of ravens and carrion crows; there had been fighting here, and recently.\n\nHalf a league from the crossroads, a barricade of sharpened stakes had been erected,\nmanned by pikemen and archers. Behind the line, the camp spread out to the far\ndistance. Thin fingers of smoke rose from hundreds of cookfires, mailed men sat under\ntrees and honed their blades, and familiar banners fluttered from staffs thrust into the\nmuddy ground.\n\nA party of mounted horsemen rode forward to challenge them as they approached the\n"
## [555] "stakes. The knight who led them wore silver armor inlaid with amethysts and a striped\npurple-and-silver cloak. His shield bore a unicorn sigil, and a spiral horn two feet long\njutted up from the brow of his horsehead helm. Tyrion reined up to greet him. “Ser\nFlement.”\n\nSer Flement Brax lifted his visor. “Tyrion,” he said in astonishment. “My lord, we all\nfeared you dead, or . . . ” He looked at the clansmen uncertainly. “These . . . companions\nof yours . . . ”\n\n“Bosom friends and loyal retainers,” Tyrion said. “Where will I find my lord father?”\n\n“He has taken the inn at the crossroads for his quarters.”\n\nTyrion laughed. The inn at the crossroads! Perhaps the gods were just after all. “I will see\nhim at once.”\n\n“As you say, my lord.” Ser Flement wheeled his horse about and shouted commands.\nThree rows of stakes were pulled from the ground to make a hole in the line. Tyrion led\nhis party through.\n\nLord Tywin’s camp spread over leagues. Chella’s estimate of twenty thousand men could\nnot be far wrong. The common men camped out in the open, but the knights had thrown\nup tents, and some of the high lords had erected pavilions as large as houses. Tyrion\nspied the red ox of the Presters, Lord Crakehall’s brindled boar, the burning tree of\nMarbrand, the badger of Lydden. Knights called out to him as he cantered past, and\nmen-at-arms gaped at the clansmen in open astonishment.\n\nShagga was gaping back; beyond a certainty, he had never seen so many men, horses,\nand weapons in all his days. The rest of the mountain brigands did a better job of\nguarding their faces, but Tyrion had no doubts that they were full as much in awe. Better\nand better. The more impressed they were with the power of the Lannisters, the easier\nthey would be to command.\n\nThe inn and its stables were much as he remembered, though little more than tumbled\nstones and blackened foundations remained where the rest of the village had stood. A\ngibbet had been erected in the yard, and the body that swung there was covered with\nravens. At Tyrion’s approach they took to the air, squawking and flapping their black\nwings. He dismounted and glanced up at what remained of the corpse. The birds had\neaten her lips and eyes and most of her cheeks, baring her stained red teeth in a hideous\nsmile. “A room, a meal, and a flagon of wine, that was all I asked,” he reminded her with\na sigh of reproach.\n"
## [556] "Boys emerged hesitantly from the stables to see to their horses. Shagga did not want to\ngive his up. “The lad won’t steal your mare,” Tyrion assured him. “He only wants to give\nher some oats and water and brush out her coat.” Shagga’s coat could have used a good\nbrushing too, but it would have been less than tactful to mention it. “You have my word,\nthe horse will not be harmed.”\n\nGlaring, Shagga let go his grip on the reins. “This is the horse of Shagga son of Dolf,” he\nroared at the stableboy.\n\n“If he doesn’t give her back, chop off his manhood and feed it to the goats,” Tyrion\npromised. “Provided you can find some.”\n\nA pair of house guards in crimson cloaks and lion-crested helms stood under the inn’s\nsign, on either side of the door. Tyrion recognized their captain. “My father?”\n\n“In the common room, m’lord.”\n\n“My men will want meat and mead,” Tyrion told him. “See that they get it.” He entered\nthe inn, and there was Father.\n\nTywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West, was in his middle\nfifties, yet hard as a man of twenty. Even seated, he was tall, with long legs, broad\nshoulders, a flat stomach. His thin arms were corded with muscle. When his once-thick\ngolden hair had begun to recede, he had commanded his barber to shave his head; Lord\nTywin did not believe in half measures. He razored his lip and chin as well, but kept his\nside-whiskers, two great thickets of wiry golden hair that covered most of his cheeks\nfrom ear to jaw. His eyes were a pale green, flecked with gold. A fool more foolish than\nmost had once jested that even Lord Tywin’s shit was flecked with gold. Some said the\nman was still alive, deep in the bowels of Casterly Rock.\n\nSer Kevan Lannister, his father’s only surviving brother, was sharing a flagon of ale with\nLord Tywin when Tyrion entered the common room. His uncle was portly and balding,\nwith a close-cropped yellow beard that followed the line of his massive jaw. Ser Kevan\nsaw him first. “Tyrion,” he said in surprise.\n\n“Uncle,” Tyrion said, bowing. “And my lord father. What a pleasure to find you here.”\n\nLord Tywin did not stir from his chair, but he did give his dwarf son a long, searching\nlook. “I see that the rumors of your demise were unfounded.”\n\n“Sorry to disappoint you, Father,” Tyrion said. “No need to leap up and embrace me, I\nwouldn’t want you to strain yourself.” He crossed the room to their table, acutely\n"
## [557] "conscious of the way his stunted legs made him waddle with every step. Whenever his\nfather’s eyes were on him, he became uncomfortably aware of all his deformities and\nshortcomings. “Kind of you to go to war for me,” he said as he climbed into a chair and\nhelped himself to a cup of his father’s ale.\n\n“By my lights, it was you who started this,” Lord Tywin replied. “Your brother Jaime\nwould never have meekly submitted to capture at the hands of a woman.”\n\n“That’s one way we differ, Jaime and I. He’s taller as well, you may have noticed.”\n\nHis father ignored the sally. “The honor of our House was at stake. I had no choice but to\nride. No man sheds Lannister blood with impunity.”\n\n“Hear Me Roar,” Tyrion said, grinning. The Lannister words. “Truth be told, none of my\nblood was actually shed, although it was a close thing once or twice. Morrec and Jyck\nwere killed.”\n\n“I suppose you will be wanting some new men.”\n\n“Don’t trouble yourself, Father, I’ve acquired a few of my own.” He tried a swallow of the\nale. It was brown and yeasty, so thick you could almost chew it. Very fine, in truth. A pity\nhis father had hanged the innkeep. “How is your war going?”\n\nHis uncle answered. “Well enough, for the nonce. Ser Edmure had scattered small troops\nof men along his borders to stop our raiding, and your lord father and I were able to\ndestroy most of them piecemeal before they could regroup.”\n\n“Your brother has been covering himself with glory,” his father said. “He smashed the\nLords Vance and Piper at the Golden Tooth, and met the massed power of the Tullys\nunder the walls of Riverrun. The lords of the Trident have been put to rout. Ser Edmure\nTully was taken captive, with many of his knights and bannermen. Lord Blackwood led a\nfew survivors back to Riverrun, where Jaime has them under siege. The rest fled to their\nown strongholds.”\n\n“Your father and I have been marching on each in turn,” Ser Kevan said. “With Lord\nBlackwood gone, Raventree fell at once, and Lady Whent yielded Harrenhal for want of\nmen to defend it. Ser Gregor burnt out the Pipers and the Brackens . . . ”\n\n“Leaving you unopposed?” Tyrion said.\n\n“Not wholly,” Ser Kevan said. “The Mallisters still hold Seagard and Walder Frey is\nmarshaling his levies at the Twins.”\n"
## [558] "“No matter,” Lord Tywin said. “Frey only takes the field when the scent of victory is in\nthe air, and all he smells now is ruin. And Jason Mallister lacks the strength to fight\nalone. Once Jaime takes Riverrun, they will both be quick enough to bend the knee.\nUnless the Starks and the Arryns come forth to oppose us, this war is good as won.”\n\n“I would not fret overmuch about the Arryns if I were you,” Tyrion said. “The Starks are\nanother matter. Lord Eddard—”\n\n“—is our hostage,” his father said. “He will lead no armies while he rots in a dungeon\nunder the Red Keep.”\n\n“No,” Ser Kevan agreed, “but his son has called the banners and sits at Moat Cailin with\na strong host around him.”\n\n“No sword is strong until it’s been tempered,” Lord Tywin declared. “The Stark boy is a\nchild. No doubt he likes the sound of warhorns well enough, and the sight of his banners\nfluttering in the wind, but in the end it comes down to butcher’s work. I doubt he has the\nstomach for it.”\n\nThings had gotten interesting while he’d been away, Tyrion reflected. “And what is our\nfearless monarch doing whilst all this ‘butcher’s work’ is being done?” he wondered.\n“How has my lovely and persuasive sister gotten Robert to agree to the imprisonment of\nhis dear friend Ned?”\n\n“Robert Baratheon is dead,” his father told him. “Your nephew reigns in King’s Landing.”\n\nThat did take Tyrion aback. “My sister, you mean.” He took another gulp of ale. The\nrealm would be a much different place with Cersei ruling in place of her husband.\n\n“If you have a mind to make yourself of use, I will give you a command,” his father said.\n“Marq Piper and Karyl Vance are loose in our rear, raiding our lands across the Red\nFork.”\n\nTyrion made a tsking sound. “The gall of them, fighting back. Ordinarily I’d be glad to\npunish such rudeness, Father, but the truth is, I have pressing business elsewhere.”\n\n“Do you?” Lord Tywin did not seem awed. “We also have a pair of Ned Stark’s\nafterthoughts making a nuisance of themselves by harassing my foraging parties. Beric\nDondarrion, some young lordling with delusions of valor. He has that fat jape of a priest\nwith him, the one who likes to set his sword on fire. Do you think you might be able to\ndeal with them as you scamper off? Without making too much a botch of it?”\n"
## [559] "Tyrion wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and smiled. “Father, it warms my\nheart to think that you might entrust me with . . . what, twenty men? Fifty? Are you sure\nyou can spare so many? Well, no matter. If I should come across Thoros and Lord Beric,\nI shall spank them both.” He climbed down from his chair and waddled to the sideboard,\nwhere a wheel of veined white cheese sat surrounded by fruit. “First, though, I have\nsome promises of my own to keep,” he said as he sliced off a wedge. “I shall require three\nthousand helms and as many hauberks, plus swords, pikes, steel spearheads, maces,\nbattleaxes, gauntlets, gorgets, greaves, breastplates, wagons to carry all this—”\n\nThe door behind him opened with a crash, so violently that Tyrion almost dropped his\ncheese. Ser Kevan leapt up swearing as the captain of the guard went flying across the\nroom to smash against the hearth. As he tumbled down into the cold ashes, his lion helm\naskew, Shagga snapped the man’s sword in two over a knee thick as a tree trunk, threw\ndown the pieces, and lumbered into the common room. He was preceded by his stench,\nriper than the cheese and overpowering in the closed space. “Little redcape,” he snarled,\n“when next you bare steel on Shagga son of Dolf, I will chop off your manhood and roast\nit in the fire.”\n\n“What, no goats?” Tyrion said, taking a bite of cheese.\n\nThe other clansmen followed Shagga into the common room, Bronn with them. The\nsellsword gave Tyrion a rueful shrug.\n\n“Who might you be?” Lord Tywin asked, cool as snow.\n\n“They followed me home, Father,” Tyrion explained. “May I keep them? They don’t eat\nmuch.”\n\nNo one was smiling. “By what right do you savages intrude on our councils?” demanded\nSer Kevan.\n\n“Savages, lowlander?” Conn might have been handsome if you washed him. “We are free\nmen, and free men by rights sit on all war councils.”\n\n“Which one is the lion lord?” Chella asked.\n\n“They are both old men,” announced Timett son of Timett, who had yet to see his\ntwentieth year.\n\nSer Kevan’s hand went to his sword hilt, but his brother placed two fingers on his wrist\nand held him fast. Lord Tywin seemed unperturbed. “Tyrion, have you forgotten your\n"
## [560] "courtesies? Kindly acquaint us with our . . . honored guests.”\n\nTyrion licked his fingers. “With pleasure,” he said. “The fair maid is Chella daughter of\nCheyk of the Black Ears.”\n\n“I’m no maid,” Chella protested. “My sons have taken fifty ears among them.”\n\n“May they take fifty more.” Tyrion waddled away from her. “This is Conn son of Coratt.\nShagga son of Dolf is the one who looks like Casterly Rock with hair. They are Stone\nCrows. Here is Ulf son of Umar of the Moon Brothers, and here Timett son of Timett, a\nred hand of the Burned Men. And this is Bronn, a sellsword of no particular allegiance.\nHe has already changed sides twice in the short time I’ve known him, you and he ought\nto get on famously, Father.” To Bronn and the clansmen he said, “May I present my lord\nfather, Tywin son of Tytos of House Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the\nWest, Shield of Lannisport, and once and future Hand of the King.”\n\nLord Tywin rose, dignified and correct. “Even in the west, we know the prowess of the\nwarrior clans of the Mountains of the Moon. What brings you down from your\nstrongholds, my lords?”\n\n“Horses,” said Shagga.\n\n“A promise of silk and steel,” said Timett son of Timett.\n\nTyrion was about to tell his lord father how he proposed to reduce the Vale of Arryn to a\nsmoking wasteland, but he was never given the chance. The door banged open again.\nThe messenger gave Tyrion’s clansmen a quick, queer look as he dropped to one knee\nbefore Lord Tywin. “My lord,” he said, “Ser Addam bid me tell you that the Stark host is\nmoving down the causeway.”\n\nLord Tywin Lannister did not smile. Lord Tywin never smiled, but Tyrion had learned to\nread his father’s pleasure all the same, and it was there on his face. “So the wolfling is\nleaving his den to play among the lions,” he said in a voice of quiet satisfaction.\n“Splendid. Return to Ser Addam and tell him to fall back. He is not to engage the\nnortherners until we arrive, but I want him to harass their flanks and draw them farther\nsouth.”\n\n“It will be as you command.” The rider took his leave.\n\n“We are well situated here,” Ser Kevan pointed out. “Close to the ford and ringed by pits\nand spikes. If they are coming south, I say let them come, and break themselves against\nus.”\n"
## [561] "“The boy may hang back or lose his courage when he sees our numbers,” Lord Tywin\nreplied. “The sooner the Starks are broken, the sooner I shall be free to deal with Stannis\nBaratheon. Tell the drummers to beat assembly, and send word to Jaime that I am\nmarching against Robb Stark.”\n\n“As you will,” Ser Kevan said.\n\nTyrion watched with a grim fascination as his lord father turned next to the half-wild\nclansmen. “It is said that the men of the mountain clans are warriors without fear.”\n\n“It is said truly,” Conn of the Stone Crows answered.\n\n“And the women,” Chella added.\n\n“Ride with me against my enemies, and you shall have all my son promised you, and\nmore,” Lord Tywin told them.\n\n“Would you pay us with our own coin?” Ulf son of Umar said. “Why should we need the\nfather’s promise, when we have the son’s?”\n\n“I said nothing of need,” Lord Tywin replied. “My words were courtesy, nothing more.\nYou need not join us. The men of the winterlands are made of iron and ice, and even my\nboldest knights fear to face them.”\n\nOh, deftly done, Tyrion thought, smiling crookedly.\n\n“The Burned Men fear nothing. Timett son of Timett will ride with the lions.”\n\n“Wherever the Burned Men go, the Stone Crows have been there first,” Conn declared\nhotly. “We ride as well.”\n\n“Shagga son of Dolf will chop off their manhoods and feed them to the crows.”\n\n“We will ride with you, lion lord,” Chella daughter of Cheyk agreed, “but only if your\nhalfman son goes with us. He has bought his breath with promises. Until we hold the\nsteel he has pledged us, his life is ours.”\n\nLord Tywin turned his gold-flecked eyes on his son.\n\n“Joy,” Tyrion said with a resigned smile.\n"
## [562] "previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [563] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n SANSA\nThe walls of the throne room had been stripped bare, the hunting tapestries that King\nRobert loved taken down and stacked in the corner in an untidy heap.\n\nSer Mandon Moore went to take his place under the throne beside two of his fellows of\nthe Kingsguard. Sansa hovered by the door, for once unguarded. The queen had given\nher freedom of the castle as a reward for being good, yet even so, she was escorted\neverywhere she went. “Honor guards for my daughter-to-be,” the queen called them, but\nthey did not make Sansa feel honored.\n\n“Freedom of the castle” meant that she could go wherever she chose within the Red Keep\nso long as she promised not to go beyond the walls, a promise Sansa had been more than\nwilling to give. She couldn’t have gone beyond the walls anyway. The gates were watched\nday and night by Janos Slynt’s gold cloaks, and Lannister house guards were always\nabout as well. Besides, even if she could leave the castle, where would she go? It was\nenough that she could walk in the yard, pick flowers in Myrcella’s garden, and visit the\nsept to pray for her father. Sometimes she prayed in the godswood as well, since the\nStarks kept the old gods.\n\nThis was the first court session of Joffrey’s reign, so Sansa looked about nervously. A line\nof Lannister house guards stood beneath the western windows, a line of gold-cloaked\nCity Watchmen beneath the east. Of smallfolk and commoners, she saw no sign, but\nunder the gallery a cluster of lords great and small milled restlessly. There were no more\nthan twenty, where a hundred had been accustomed to wait upon King Robert.\n\nSansa slipped in among them, murmuring greetings as she worked her way toward the\nfront. She recognized black-skinned Jalabhar Xho, gloomy Ser Aron Santagar, the\nRedwyne twins Horror and Slobber . . . only none of them seemed to recognize her. Or if\nthey did, they shied away as if she had the grey plague. Sickly Lord Gyles covered his\nface at her approach and feigned a fit of coughing, and when funny drunken Ser Dontos\nstarted to hail her, Ser Balon Swann whispered in his ear and he turned away.\n\nAnd so many others were missing. Where had the rest of them gone? Sansa wondered.\nVainly, she searched for friendly faces. Not one of them would meet her eyes. It was as if\nshe had become a ghost, dead before her time.\n"
## [564] "Grand Maester Pycelle was seated alone at the council table, seemingly asleep, his hands\nclasped together atop his beard. She saw Lord Varys hurry into the hall, his feet making\nno sound. A moment later Lord Baelish entered through the tall doors in the rear,\nsmiling. He chatted amiably with Ser Balon and Ser Dontos as he made his way to the\nfront. Butterflies fluttered nervously in Sansa’s stomach. I shouldn’t be afraid, she told\nherself. I have nothing to be afraid of, it will all come out well, Joff loves me and the\nqueen does too, she said so.\n\nA herald’s voice rang out. “All hail His Grace, Joffrey of the Houses Baratheon and\nLannister, the First of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men,\nand Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. All hail his lady mother, Cersei of House Lannister,\nQueen Regent, Light of the West, and Protector of the Realm.”\n\nSer Barristan Selmy, resplendent in white plate, led them in. Ser Arys Oakheart escorted\nthe queen, while Ser Boros Blount walked beside Joffrey, so six of the Kingsguard were\nnow in the hall, all the White Swords save Jaime Lannister alone. Her prince—no, her\nking now!—took the steps of the Iron Throne two at a time, while his mother was seated\nwith the council. Joff wore plush black velvets slashed with crimson, a shimmering cloth-\nof-gold cape with a high collar, and on his head a golden crown crusted with rubies and\nblack diamonds.\n\nWhen Joffrey turned to look out over the hall, his eye caught Sansa’s. He smiled, seated\nhimself, and spoke. “It is a king’s duty to punish the disloyal and reward those who are\ntrue. Grand Maester Pycelle, I command you to read my decrees.”\n\nPycelle pushed himself to his feet. He was clad in a magnificent robe of thick red velvet,\nwith an ermine collar and shiny gold fastenings. From a drooping sleeve, heavy with\ngilded scrollwork, he drew a parchment, unrolled it, and began to read a long list of\nnames, commanding each in the name of king and council to present themselves and\nswear their fealty to Joffrey. Failing that, they would be adjudged traitors, their lands\nand titles forfeit to the throne.\n\nThe names he read made Sansa hold her breath. Lord Stannis Baratheon, his lady wife,\nhis daughter. Lord Renly Baratheon. Both Lord Royces and their sons. Ser Loras Tyrell.\nLord Mace Tyrell, his brothers, uncles, sons. The red priest, Thoros of Myr. Lord Beric\nDondarrion. Lady Lysa Arryn and her son, the little Lord Robert. Lord Hoster Tully, his\nbrother Ser Brynden, his son Ser Edmure. Lord Jason Mallister. Lord Bryce Caron of the\nMarches. Lord Tytos Blackwood. Lord Walder Frey and his heir Ser Stevron. Lord Karyl\nVance. Lord Jonos Bracken. Lady Sheila Whent. Doran Martell, Prince of Dorne, and all\nhis sons. So many, she thought as Pycelle read on and on, it will take a whole flock of\nravens to send out these commands.\n"
## [565] "And at the end, near last, came the names Sansa had been dreading. Lady Catelyn Stark.\nRobb Stark. Brandon Stark, Rickon Stark, Arya Stark. Sansa stifled a gasp. Arya. They\nwanted Arya to present herself and swear an oath . . . it must mean her sister had fled on\nthe galley, she must be safe at Winterfell by now . . .\n\nGrand Maester Pycelle rolled up the list, tucked it up his left sleeve, and pulled another\nparchment from his right. He cleared his throat and resumed. “In the place of the traitor\nEddard Stark, it is the wish of His Grace that Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and\nWarden of the West, take up the office of Hand of the King, to speak with his voice, lead\nhis armies against his enemies, and carry out his royal will. So the king has decreed. The\nsmall council consents.\n\n“In the place of the traitor Stannis Baratheon, it is the wish of His Grace that his lady\nmother, the Queen Regent Cersei Lannister, who has ever been his staunchest support,\nbe seated upon his small council, that she may help him rule wisely and with justice. So\nthe king has decreed. The small council consents.”\n\nSansa heard a soft murmuring from the lords around her, but it was quickly stilled.\nPycelle continued.\n\n“It is also the wish of His Grace that his loyal servant, Janos Slynt, Commander of the\nCity Watch of King’s Landing, be at once raised to the rank of lord and granted the\nancient seat of Harrenhal with all its attendant lands and incomes, and that his sons and\ngrandsons shall hold these honors after him until the end of time. It is moreover his\ncommand that Lord Slynt be seated immediately upon his small council, to assist in the\ngovernance of the realm. So the king has decreed. The small council consents.”\n\nSansa glimpsed motion from the corner of her eye as Janos Slynt made his entrance.\nThis time the muttering was louder and angrier. Proud lords whose houses went back\nthousands of years made way reluctantly for the balding, frog-faced commoner as he\nmarched past. Golden scales had been sewn onto the black velvet of his doublet and rang\ntogether softly with each step. His cloak was checked black-and-gold satin. Two ugly\nboys who must have been his sons went before him, struggling with the weight of a\nheavy metal shield as tall as they were. For his sigil he had taken a bloody spear, gold on\na night-black field. The sight of it raised goose prickles up and down Sansa’s arms.\n\nAs Lord Slynt took his place, Grand Maester Pycelle resumed. “Lastly, in these times of\ntreason and turmoil, with our beloved Robert so lately dead, it is the view of the council\nthat the life and safety of King Joffrey is of paramount importance . . . ” He looked to the\nqueen.\n\nCersei stood. “Ser Barristan Selmy, stand forth.”\n"
## [566] "Ser Barristan had been standing at the foot of the Iron Throne, as still as any statue, but\nnow he went to one knee and bowed his head. “Your Grace, I am yours to command.”\n\n“Rise, Ser Barristan,” Cersei Lannister said. “You may remove your helm.”\n\n“My lady?” Standing, the old knight took off his high white helm, though he did not seem\nto understand why.\n\n“You have served the realm long and faithfully, good ser, and every man and woman in\nthe Seven Kingdoms owes you thanks. Yet now I fear your service is at an end. It is the\nwish of king and council that you lay down your heavy burden.”\n\n“My . . . burden? I fear I . . . I do not . . . ”\n\nThe new-made lord, Janos Slynt, spoke up, his voice heavy and blunt. “Her Grace is\ntrying to tell you that you are relieved as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.”\n\nThe tall, white-haired knight seemed to shrink as he stood there, scarcely breathing.\n“Your Grace,” he said at last. “The Kingsguard is a Sworn Brotherhood. Our vows are\ntaken for life. Only death may relieve the Lord Commander of his sacred trust.”\n\n“Whose death, Ser Barristan?” The queen’s voice was soft as silk, but her words carried\nthe whole length of the hall. “Yours, or your king’s?”\n\n“You let my father die,” Joffrey said accusingly from atop the Iron Throne. “You’re too\nold to protect anybody.”\n\nSansa watched as the knight peered up at his new king. She had never seen him look his\nyears before, yet now he did. “Your Grace,” he said. “I was chosen for the White Swords\nin my twenty-third year. It was all I had ever dreamed, from the moment I first took\nsword in hand. I gave up all claim to my ancestral keep. The girl I was to wed married\nmy cousin in my place, I had no need of land or sons, my life would be lived for the\nrealm. Ser Gerold Hightower himself heard my vows . . . to ward the king with all my\nstrength . . . to give my blood for his . . . I fought beside the White Bull and Prince Lewyn\nof Dorne . . . beside Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. Before I served your\nfather, I helped shield King Aerys, and his father Jaehaerys before him . . . three\nkings . . . ”\n\n“And all of them dead,” Littlefinger pointed out.\n\n“Your time is done,” Cersei Lannister announced. “Joffrey requires men around him\n"
## [567] "who are young and strong. The council has determined that Ser Jaime Lannister will\ntake your place as the Lord Commander of Sworn Brothers of the White Swords.”\n\n“The Kingslayer,” Ser Barristan said, his voice hard with contempt. “The false knight\nwho profaned his blade with the blood of the king he had sworn to defend.”\n\n“Have a care for your words, ser,” the queen warned. “You are speaking of our beloved\nbrother, your king’s own blood.”\n\nLord Varys spoke, gentler than the others. “We are not unmindful of your service, good\nser. Lord Tywin Lannister has generously agreed to grant you a handsome tract of land\nnorth of Lannisport, beside the sea, with gold and men sufficient to build you a stout\nkeep, and servants to see to your every need.”\n\nSer Barristan looked up sharply. “A hall to die in, and men to bury me. I thank you, my\nlords . . . but I spit upon your pity.” He reached up and undid the clasps that held his\ncloak in place, and the heavy white garment slithered from his shoulders to fall in a heap\non the floor. His helmet dropped with a clang. “I am a knight,” he told them. He opened\nthe silver fastenings of his breastplate and let that fall as well. “I shall die a knight.”\n\n“A naked knight, it would seem,” quipped Littlefinger.\n\nThey all laughed then, Joffrey on his throne, and the lords standing attendance, Janos\nSlynt and Queen Cersei and Sandor Clegane and even the other men of the Kingsguard,\nthe five who had been his brothers until a moment ago. Surely that must have hurt the\nmost, Sansa thought. Her heart went out to the gallant old man as he stood shamed and\nred-faced, too angry to speak. Finally he drew his sword.\n\nSansa heard someone gasp. Ser Boros and Ser Meryn moved forward to confront him,\nbut Ser Barristan froze them in place with a look that dripped contempt. “Have no fear,\nsers, your king is safe . . . no thanks to you. Even now, I could cut through the five of you\nas easy as a dagger cuts cheese. If you would serve under the Kingslayer, not a one of you\nis fit to wear the white.” He flung his sword at the foot of the Iron Throne. “Here, boy.\nMelt it down and add it to the others, if you like. It will do you more good than the\nswords in the hands of these five. Perhaps Lord Stannis will chance to sit on it when he\ntakes your throne.”\n\nHe took the long way out, his steps ringing loud against the floor and echoing off the\nbare stone walls. Lords and ladies parted to let him pass. Not until the pages had closed\nthe great oak-and-bronze doors behind him did Sansa hear sounds again: soft voices,\nuneasy stirrings, the shuffle of papers from the council table. “He called me boy,” Joffrey\nsaid peevishly, sounding younger than his years. “He talked about my uncle Stannis too.”\n"
## [568] "“Idle talk,” said Varys the eunuch. “Without meaning . . . ”\n\n“He could be making plots with my uncles. I want him seized and questioned.” No one\nmoved. Joffrey raised his voice. “I said, I want him seized!”\n\nJanos Slynt rose from the council table. “My gold cloaks will see to it, Your Grace.”\n\n“Good,” said King Joffrey. Lord Janos strode from the hall, his ugly sons double-\nstepping to keep up as they lugged the great metal shield with the arms of House Slynt.\n\n“Your Grace,” Littlefinger reminded the king. “If we might resume, the seven are now\nsix. We find ourselves in need of a new sword for your Kingsguard.”\n\nJoffrey smiled. “Tell them, Mother.”\n\n“The king and council have determined that no man in the Seven Kingdoms is more fit\nto guard and protect His Grace than his sworn shield, Sandor Clegane.”\n\n“How do you like that, dog?” King Joffrey asked.\n\nThe Hound’s scarred face was hard to read. He took a long moment to consider. “Why\nnot? I have no lands nor wife to forsake, and who’d care if I did?” The burned side of his\nmouth twisted. “But I warn you, I’ll say no knight’s vows.”\n\n“The Sworn Brothers of the Kingsguard have always been knights,” Ser Boros said firmly.\n\n“Until now,” the Hound said in his deep rasp, and Ser Boros fell silent.\n\nWhen the king’s herald moved forward, Sansa realized the moment was almost at hand.\nShe smoothed down the cloth of her skirt nervously. She was dressed in mourning, as a\nsign of respect for the dead king, but she had taken special care to make herself\nbeautiful. Her gown was the ivory silk that the queen had given her, the one Arya had\nruined, but she’d had them dye it black and you couldn’t see the stain at all. She had\nfretted over her jewelry for hours and finally decided upon the elegant simplicity of a\nplain silver chain.\n\nThe herald’s voice boomed out. “If any man in this hall has other matters to set before\nHis Grace, let him speak now or go forth and hold his silence.”\n\nSansa quailed. Now, she told herself, I must do it now. Gods give me courage. She took\none step, then another. Lords and knights stepped aside silently to let her pass, and she\n"
## [569] "felt the weight of their eyes on her. I must be as strong as my lady mother. “Your\nGrace,” she called out in a soft, tremulous voice.\n\nThe height of the Iron Throne gave Joffrey a better vantage point than anyone else in the\nhall. He was the first to see her. “Come forward, my lady,” he called out, smiling.\n\nHis smile emboldened her, made her feel beautiful and strong. He does love me, he does.\nSansa lifted her head and walked toward him, not too slow and not too fast. She must\nnot let them see how nervous she was.\n\n“The Lady Sansa, of House Stark,” the herald cried.\n\nShe stopped under the throne, at the spot where Ser Barristan’s white cloak lay puddled\non the floor beside his helm and breastplate. “Do you have some business for king and\ncouncil, Sansa?” the queen asked from the council table.\n\n“I do.” She knelt on the cloak, so as not to spoil her gown, and looked up at her prince on\nhis fearsome black throne. “As it please Your Grace, I ask mercy for my father, Lord\nEddard Stark, who was the Hand of the King.” She had practiced the words a hundred\ntimes.\n\nThe queen sighed. “Sansa, you disappoint me. What did I tell you about traitor’s blood?”\n\n“Your father has committed grave and terrible crimes, my lady,” Grand Maester Pycelle\nintoned.\n\n“Ah, poor sad thing,” sighed Varys. “She is only a babe, my lords, she does not know\nwhat she asks.”\n\nSansa had eyes only for Joffrey. He must listen to me, he must, she thought. The king\nshifted on his seat, “Let her speak,” he commanded. “I want to hear what she says.”\n\n“Thank you, Your Grace.” Sansa smiled, a shy secret smile, just for him. He was\nlistening. She knew he would.\n\n“Treason is a noxious weed,” Pycelle declared solemnly. “It must be torn up, root and\nstem and seed, lest new traitors sprout from every roadside.”\n\n“Do you deny your father’s crime?” Lord Baelish asked.\n\n“No, my lords.” Sansa knew better than that. “I know he must be punished. All I ask is\n"
## [570] "mercy. I know my lord father must regret what he did. He was King Robert’s friend and\nhe loved him, you all know he loved him. He never wanted to be Hand until the king\nasked him. They must have lied to him. Lord Renly or Lord Stannis or . . . or somebody,\nthey must have lied, otherwise . . . ”\n\nKing Joffrey leaned forward, hands grasping the arms of the throne. Broken sword\npoints fanned out between his fingers. “He said I wasn’t the king. Why did he say that?”\n\n“His leg was broken,” Sansa replied eagerly. “It hurt ever so much, Maester Pycelle was\ngiving him milk of the poppy, and they say that milk of the poppy fills your head with\nclouds. Otherwise he would never have said it.”\n\nVarys said, “A child’s faith . . . such sweet innocence . . . and yet, they say wisdom oft\ncomes from the mouths of babes.”\n\n“Treason is treason,” Pycelle replied at once.\n\nJoffrey rocked restlessly on the throne. “Mother?”\n\nCersei Lannister considered Sansa thoughtfully. “If Lord Eddard were to confess his\ncrime,” she said at last, “we would know he had repented his folly.”\n\nJoffrey pushed himself to his feet. Please, Sansa thought, please, please, be the king I\nknow you are, good and kind and noble, please. “Do you have any more to say?” he\nasked her.\n\n“Only . . . that as you love me, you do me this kindness, my prince,” Sansa said.\n\nKing Joffrey looked her up and down. “Your sweet words have moved me,” he said\ngallantly, nodding, as if to say all would be well. “I shall do as you ask . . . but first your\nfather has to confess. He has to confess and say that I’m the king, or there will be no\nmercy for him.”\n\n“He will,” Sansa said, heart soaring. “Oh, I know he will.”\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [571] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n EDDARD\nThe straw on the floor stank of urine. There was no window, no bed, not even a slop\nbucket. He remembered walls of pale red stone festooned with patches of nitre, a grey\ndoor of splintered wood, four inches thick and studded with iron. He had seen them,\nbriefly, a quick glimpse as they shoved him inside. Once the door had slammed shut, he\nhad seen no more. The dark was absolute. He had as well been blind.\n\nOr dead. Buried with his king. “Ah, Robert,” he murmured as his groping hand touched\na cold stone wall, his leg throbbing with every motion. He remembered the jest the king\nhad shared in the crypts of Winterfell, as the Kings of Winter looked on with cold stone\neyes. The king eats, Robert had said, and the Hand takes the shit. How he had laughed.\nYet he had gotten it wrong. The king dies, Ned Stark thought, and the Hand is buried.\n\nThe dungeon was under the Red Keep, deeper than he dared imagine. He remembered\nthe old stories about Maegor the Cruel, who murdered all the masons who labored on his\ncastle, so they might never reveal its secrets.\n\nHe damned them all: Littlefinger, Janos Slynt and his gold cloaks, the queen, the\nKingslayer, Pycelle and Varys and Ser Barristan, even Lord Renly, Robert’s own blood,\nwho had run when he was needed most. Yet in the end he blamed himself. “Fool,” he\ncried to the darkness, “thrice-damned blind fool.”\n\nCersei Lannister’s face seemed to float before him in the darkness. Her hair was full of\nsunlight, but there was mockery in her smile. “When you play the game of thrones, you\nwin or you die,” she whispered. Ned had played and lost, and his men had paid the price\nof his folly with their life’s blood.\n\nWhen he thought of his daughters, he would have wept gladly, but the tears would not\ncome. Even now, he was a Stark of Winterfell, and his grief and his rage froze hard\ninside him.\n\nWhen he kept very still, his leg did not hurt so much, so he did his best to lie unmoving.\nFor how long he could not say. There was no sun and no moon. He could not see to mark\nthe walls. Ned closed his eyes and opened them; it made no difference. He slept and\nwoke and slept again. He did not know which was more painful, the waking or the\nsleeping. When he slept, he dreamed: dark disturbing dreams of blood and broken\n"
## [572] "promises. When he woke, there was nothing to do but think, and his waking thoughts\nwere worse than nightmares. The thought of Cat was as painful as a bed of nettles. He\nwondered where she was, what she was doing. He wondered whether he would ever see\nher again.\n\nHours turned to days, or so it seemed. He could feel a dull ache in his shattered leg, an\nitch beneath the plaster. When he touched his thigh, the flesh was hot to his fingers. The\nonly sound was his breathing. After a time, he began to talk aloud, just to hear a voice.\nHe made plans to keep himself sane, built castles of hope in the dark. Robert’s brothers\nwere out in the world, raising armies at Dragonstone and Storm’s End. Alyn and Harwin\nwould return to King’s Landing with the rest of his household guard once they had dealt\nwith Ser Gregor. Catelyn would raise the north when the word reached her, and the lords\nof river and mountain and Vale would join her.\n\nHe found himself thinking of Robert more and more. He saw the king as he had been in\nthe flower of his youth, tall and handsome, his great antlered helm on his head, his\nwarhammer in hand, sitting his horse like a horned god. He heard his laughter in the\ndark, saw his eyes, blue and clear as mountain lakes. “Look at us, Ned,” Robert said.\n“Gods, how did we come to this? You here, and me killed by a pig. We won a throne\ntogether . . . ”\n\nI failed you, Robert, Ned thought. He could not say the words. I lied to you, hid the\ntruth. I let them kill you.\n\nThe king heard him. “You stiff-necked fool,” he muttered, “too proud to listen. Can you\neat pride, Stark? Will honor shield your children?” Cracks ran down his face, fissures\nopening in the flesh, and he reached up and ripped the mask away. It was not Robert at\nall; it was Littlefinger, grinning, mocking him. When he opened his mouth to speak, his\nlies turned to pale grey moths and took wing.\n\nNed was half-asleep when the footsteps came down the hall. At first he thought he\ndreamt them; it had been so long since he had heard anything but the sound of his own\nvoice. Ned was feverish by then, his leg a dull agony, his lips parched and cracked. When\nthe heavy wooden door creaked open, the sudden light was painful to his eyes.\n\nA gaoler thrust a jug at him. The clay was cool and beaded with moisture. Ned grasped it\nwith both hands and gulped eagerly. Water ran from his mouth and dripped down\nthrough his beard. He drank until he thought he would be sick. “How long . . . ?” he\nasked weakly when he could drink no more.\n\nThe gaoler was a scarecrow of a man with a rat’s face and frayed beard, clad in a mail\nshirt and a leather half cape. “No talking,” he said as he wrenched the jug from Ned’s\n"
## [573] "hands.\n\n“Please,” Ned said, “my daughters . . . ” The door crashed shut. He blinked as the light\nvanished, lowered his head to his chest, and curled up on the straw. It no longer stank of\nurine and shit. It no longer smelled at all.\n\nHe could no longer tell the difference between waking and sleeping. The memory came\ncreeping upon him in the darkness, as vivid as a dream. It was the year of false spring,\nand he was eighteen again, down from the Eyrie to the tourney at Harrenhal. He could\nsee the deep green of the grass, and smell the pollen on the wind. Warm days and cool\nnights and the sweet taste of wine. He remembered Brandon’s laughter, and Robert’s\nberserk valor in the melee, the way he laughed as he unhorsed men left and right. He\nremembered Jaime Lannister, a golden youth in scaled white armor, kneeling on the\ngrass in front of the king’s pavilion and making his vows to protect and defend King\nAerys. Afterward, Ser Oswell Whent helped Jaime to his feet, and the White Bull\nhimself, Lord Commander Ser Gerold Hightower, fastened the snowy cloak of the\nKingsguard about his shoulders. All six White Swords were there to welcome their\nnewest brother.\n\nYet when the jousting began, the day belonged to Rhaegar Targaryen. The crown prince\nwore the armor he would die in: gleaming black plate with the three-headed dragon of\nhis House wrought in rubies on the breast. A plume of scarlet silk streamed behind him\nwhen he rode, and it seemed no lance could touch him. Brandon fell to him, and Bronze\nYohn Royce, and even the splendid Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning.\n\nRobert had been jesting with Jon and old Lord Hunter as the prince circled the field\nafter unhorsing Ser Barristan in the final tilt to claim the champion’s crown. Ned\nremembered the moment when all the smiles died, when Prince Rhaegar Targaryen\nurged his horse past his own wife, the Dornish princess Elia Martell, to lay the queen of\nbeauty’s laurel in Lyanna’s lap. He could see it still: a crown of winter roses, blue as frost.\n\nNed Stark reached out his hand to grasp the flowery crown, but beneath the pale blue\npetals the thorns lay hidden. He felt them clawing at his skin, sharp and cruel, saw the\nslow trickle of blood run down his fingers, and woke, trembling, in the dark.\n\nPromise me, Ned, his sister had whispered from her bed of blood. She had loved the\nscent of winter roses.\n\n“Gods save me,” Ned wept. “I am going mad.”\n\nThe gods did not deign to answer.\n"
## [574] "Each time the turnkey brought him water, he told himself another day had passed. At\nfirst he would beg the man for some word of his daughters and the world beyond his cell.\nGrunts and kicks were his only replies. Later, when the stomach cramps began, he\nbegged for food instead. It made no matter; he was not fed. Perhaps the Lannisters\nmeant for him to starve to death. “No,” he told himself. If Cersei had wanted him dead,\nhe would have been cut down in the throne room with his men. She wanted him alive.\nWeak, desperate, yet alive. Catelyn held her brother; she dare not kill him or the Imp’s\nlife would be forfeit as well.\n\nFrom outside his cell came the rattle of iron chains. As the door creaked open, Ned put a\nhand to the damp wall and pushed himself toward the light. The glare of a torch made\nhim squint. “Food,” he croaked.\n\n“Wine,” a voice answered. It was not the rat-faced man; this gaoler was stouter, shorter,\nthough he wore the same leather half cape and spiked steel cap. “Drink, Lord Eddard.”\nHe thrust a wineskin into Ned’s hands.\n\nThe voice was strangely familiar, yet it took Ned Stark a moment to place it. “Varys?” he\nsaid groggily when it came. He touched the man’s face. “I’m not . . . not dreaming this.\nYou’re here.” The eunuch’s plump cheeks were covered with a dark stubble of beard. Ned\nfelt the coarse hair with his fingers. Varys had transformed himself into a grizzled\nturnkey, reeking of sweat and sour wine. “How did you . . . what sort of magician are\nyou?”\n\n“A thirsty one,” Varys said. “Drink, my lord.”\n\nNed’s hands fumbled at the skin. “Is this the same poison they gave Robert?”\n\n“You wrong me,” Varys said sadly. “Truly, no one loves a eunuch. Give me the skin.” He\ndrank, a trickle of red leaking from the corner of his plump mouth. “Not the equal of the\nvintage you offered me the night of the tourney, but no more poisonous than most,” he\nconcluded, wiping his lips. “Here.”\n\nNed tried a swallow. “Dregs.” He felt as though he were about to bring the wine back up.\n\n“All men must swallow the sour with the sweet. High lords and eunuchs alike. Your hour\nhas come, my lord.”\n\n“My daughters . . . ”\n\n“The younger girl escaped Ser Meryn and fled,” Varys told him. “I have not been able to\nfind her. Nor have the Lannisters. A kindness, there. Our new king loves her not. Your\n"
## [575] "older girl is still betrothed to Joffrey. Cersei keeps her close. She came to court a few\ndays ago to plead that you be spared. A pity you couldn’t have been there, you would\nhave been touched.” He leaned forward intently. “I trust you realize that you are a dead\nman, Lord Eddard?”\n\n“The queen will not kill me,” Ned said. His head swam; the wine was strong, and it had\nbeen too long since he’d eaten. “Cat . . . Cat holds her brother . . . ”\n\n“The wrong brother,” Varys sighed. “And lost to her, in any case. She let the Imp slip\nthrough her fingers. I expect he is dead by now, somewhere in the Mountains of the\nMoon.”\n\n“If that is true, slit my throat and have done with it.” He was dizzy from the wine, tired\nand heartsick.\n\n“Your blood is the last thing I desire.”\n\nNed frowned. “When they slaughtered my guard, you stood beside the queen and\nwatched, and said not a word.”\n\n“And would again. I seem to recall that I was unarmed, unarmored, and surrounded by\nLannister swords.” The eunuch looked at him curiously, tilting his head. “When I was a\nyoung boy, before I was cut, I traveled with a troupe of mummers through the Free\nCities. They taught me that each man has a role to play, in life as well as mummery. So it\nis at court. The King’s Justice must be fearsome, the master of coin must be frugal, the\nLord Commander of the Kingsguard must be valiant . . . and the master of whisperers\nmust be sly and obsequious and without scruple. A courageous informer would be as\nuseless as a cowardly knight.” He took the wineskin back and drank.\n\nNed studied the eunuch’s face, searching for truth beneath the mummer’s scars and false\nstubble. He tried some more wine. This time it went down easier. “Can you free me from\nthis pit?”\n\n“I could . . . but will I? No. Questions would be asked, and the answers would lead back\nto me.”\n\nNed had expected no more. “You are blunt.”\n\n“A eunuch has no honor, and a spider does not enjoy the luxury of scruples, my lord.”\n\n“Would you at least consent to carry a message out for me?”\n"
## [576] "“That would depend on the message. I will gladly provide you with paper and ink, if you\nlike. And when you have written what you will, I will take the letter and read it, and\ndeliver it or not, as best serves my own ends.”\n\n“Your own ends. What ends are those, Lord Varys?”\n\n“Peace,” Varys replied without hesitation. “If there was one soul in King’s Landing who\nwas truly desperate to keep Robert Baratheon alive, it was me.” He sighed. “For fifteen\nyears I protected him from his enemies, but I could not protect him from his friends.\nWhat strange fit of madness led you to tell the queen that you had learned the truth of\nJoffrey’s birth?”\n\n“The madness of mercy,” Ned admitted.\n\n“Ah,” said Varys. “To be sure. You are an honest and honorable man, Lord Eddard.\nOfttimes I forget that. I have met so few of them in my life.” He glanced around the cell.\n“When I see what honesty and honor have won you, I understand why.”\n\nNed Stark laid his head back against the damp stone wall and closed his eyes. His leg\nwas throbbing. “The king’s wine . . . did you question Lancel?”\n\n“Oh, indeed. Cersei gave him the wineskins, and told him it was Robert’s favorite\nvintage.” The eunuch shrugged. “A hunter lives a perilous life. If the boar had not done\nfor Robert, it would have been a fall from a horse, the bite of a wood adder, an arrow\ngone astray . . . the forest is the abbatoir of the gods. It was not wine that killed the king.\nIt was your mercy.”\n\nNed had feared as much. “Gods forgive me.”\n\n“If there are gods,” Varys said, “I expect they will. The queen would not have waited long\nin any case. Robert was becoming unruly, and she needed to be rid of him to free her\nhands to deal with his brothers. They are quite a pair, Stannis and Renly. The iron\ngauntlet and the silk glove.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You have\nbeen foolish, my lord. You ought to have heeded Littlefinger when he urged you to\nsupport Joffrey’s succession.”\n\n“How . . . how could you know of that?”\n\nVarys smiled. “I know, that’s all that need concern you. I also know that on the morrow\nthe queen will pay you a visit.”\n\nSlowly Ned raised his eyes. “Why?”\n"
## [577] "“Cersei is frightened of you, my lord . . . but she has other enemies she fears even more.\nHer beloved Jaime is fighting the river lords even now. Lysa Arryn sits in the Eyrie,\nringed in stone and steel, and there is no love lost between her and the queen. In Dorne,\nthe Martells still brood on the murder of Princess Elia and her babes. And now your son\nmarches down the Neck with a northern host at his back.”\n\n“Robb is only a boy,” Ned said, aghast.\n\n“A boy with an army,” Varys said. “Yet only a boy, as you say. The king’s brothers are the\nones giving Cersei sleepless nights . . . Lord Stannis in particular. His claim is the true\none, he is known for his prowess as a battle commander, and he is utterly without mercy.\nThere is no creature on earth half so terrifying as a truly just man. No one knows what\nStannis has been doing on Dragonstone, but I will wager you that he’s gathered more\nswords than seashells. So here is Cersei’s nightmare: while her father and brother spend\ntheir power battling Starks and Tullys, Lord Stannis will land, proclaim himself king,\nand lop off her son’s curly blond head . . . and her own in the bargain, though I truly\nbelieve she cares more about the boy.”\n\n“Stannis Baratheon is Robert’s true heir,” Ned said. “The throne is his by rights. I would\nwelcome his ascent.”\n\nVarys tsked. “Cersei will not want to hear that, I promise you. Stannis may win the\nthrone, but only your rotting head will remain to cheer unless you guard that tongue of\nyours. Sansa begged so sweetly, it would be a shame if you threw it all away. You are\nbeing given your life back, if you’ll take it. Cersei is no fool. She knows a tame wolf is of\nmore use than a dead one.”\n\n“You want me to serve the woman who murdered my king, butchered my men, and\ncrippled my son?” Ned’s voice was thick with disbelief.\n\n“I want you to serve the realm,” Varys said. “Tell the queen that you will confess your\nvile treason, command your son to lay down his sword, and proclaim Joffrey as the true\nheir. Offer to denounce Stannis and Renly as faithless usurpers. Our green-eyed lioness\nknows you are a man of honor. If you will give her the peace she needs and the time to\ndeal with Stannis, and pledge to carry her secret to your grave, I believe she will allow\nyou to take the black and live out the rest of your days on the Wall, with your brother\nand that baseborn son of yours.”\n\nThe thought of Jon filled Ned with a sense of shame, and a sorrow too deep for words. If\nonly he could see the boy again, sit and talk with him . . . pain shot through his broken\nleg, beneath the filthy grey plaster of his cast. He winced, his fingers opening and closing\n"
## [578] "helplessly. “Is this your own scheme,” he gasped out at Varys, “or are you in league with\nLittlefinger?”\n\nThat seemed to amuse the eunuch. “I would sooner wed the Black Goat of Qohor.\nLittlefinger is the second most devious man in the Seven Kingdoms. Oh, I feed him\nchoice whispers, sufficient so that he thinks I am his . . . just as I allow Cersei to believe I\nam hers.”\n\n“And just as you let me believe that you were mine. Tell me, Lord Varys, who do you\ntruly serve?”\n\nVarys smiled thinly. “Why, the realm, my good lord, how ever could you doubt that? I\nswear it by my lost manhood. I serve the realm, and the realm needs peace.” He finished\nthe last swallow of wine, and tossed the empty skin aside. “So what is your answer, Lord\nEddard? Give me your word that you’ll tell the queen what she wants to hear when she\ncomes calling.”\n\n“If I did, my word would be as hollow as an empty suit of armor. My life is not so\nprecious to me as that.”\n\n“Pity.” The eunuch stood. “And your daughter’s life, my lord? How precious is that?”\n\nA chill pierced Ned’s heart. “My daughter . . . ”\n\n“Surely you did not think I’d forgotten about your sweet innocent, my lord? The queen\nmost certainly has not.”\n\n“No,” Ned pleaded, his voice cracking. “Varys, gods have mercy, do as you like with me,\nbut leave my daughter out of your schemes. Sansa’s no more than a child.”\n\n“Rhaenys was a child too. Prince Rhaegar’s daughter. A precious little thing, younger\nthan your girls. She had a small black kitten she called Balerion, did you know? I always\nwondered what happened to him. Rhaenys liked to pretend he was the true Balerion, the\nBlack Dread of old, but I imagine the Lannisters taught her the difference between a\nkitten and a dragon quick enough, the day they broke down her door.” Varys gave a long\nweary sigh, the sigh of a man who carried all the sadness of the world in a sack upon his\nshoulders. “The High Septon once told me that as we sin, so do we suffer. If that’s true,\nLord Eddard, tell me . . . why is it always the innocents who suffer most, when you high\nlords play your game of thrones? Ponder it, if you would, while you wait upon the queen.\nAnd spare a thought for this as well: The next visitor who calls on you could bring you\nbread and cheese and the milk of the poppy for your pain . . . or he could bring you\nSansa’s head.\n"
## [579] "“The choice, my dear lord Hand, is entirely yours.”\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [580] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n CATELYN\nAs the host trooped down the causeway through the black bogs of the Neck and spilled\nout into the riverlands beyond, Catelyn’s apprehensions grew. She masked her fears\nbehind a face kept still and stern, yet they were there all the same, growing with every\nleague they crossed. Her days were anxious, her nights restless, and every raven that\nflew overhead made her clench her teeth.\n\nShe feared for her lord father, and wondered at his ominous silence. She feared for her\nbrother Edmure, and prayed that the gods would watch over him if he must face the\nKingslayer in battle. She feared for Ned and her girls, and for the sweet sons she had left\nbehind at Winterfell. And yet there was nothing she could do for any of them, and so she\nmade herself put all thought of them aside. You must save your strength for Robb, she\ntold herself. He is the only one you can help. You must be as fierce and hard as the\nnorth, Catelyn Tully. You must be a Stark for true now, like your son.\n\nRobb rode at the front of the column, beneath the flapping white banner of Winterfell.\nEach day he would ask one of his lords to join him, so they might confer as they\nmarched; he honored every man in turn, showing no favorites, listening as his lord\nfather had listened, weighing the words of one against the other. He has learned so\nmuch from Ned, she thought as she watched him, but has he learned enough?\n\nThe Blackfish had taken a hundred picked men and a hundred swift horses and raced\nahead to screen their movements and scout the way. The reports Ser Brynden’s riders\nbrought back did little to reassure her. Lord Tywin’s host was still many days to the\nsouth . . . but Walder Frey, Lord of the Crossing, had assembled a force of near four\nthousand men at his castles on the Green Fork.\n\n“Late again,” Catelyn murmured when she heard. It was the Trident all over, damn the\nman. Her brother Edmure had called the banners; by rights, Lord Frey should have gone\nto join the Tully host at Riverrun, yet here he sat.\n\n“Four thousand men,” Robb repeated, more perplexed than angry. “Lord Frey cannot\nhope to fight the Lannisters by himself. Surely he means to join his power to ours.”\n\n“Does he?” Catelyn asked. She had ridden forward to join Robb and Robett Glover, his\ncompanion of the day. The vanguard spread out behind them, a slow-moving forest of\n"
## [581] "lances and banners and spears. “I wonder. Expect nothing of Walder Frey, and you will\nnever be surprised.”\n\n“He’s your father’s bannerman.”\n\n“Some men take their oaths more seriously than others, Robb. And Lord Walder was\nalways friendlier with Casterly Rock than my father would have liked. One of his sons is\nwed to Tywin Lannister’s sister. That means little of itself, to be sure. Lord Walder has\nsired a great many children over the years, and they must needs marry someone.\nStill . . . ”\n\n“Do you think he means to betray us to the Lannisters, my lady?” Robett Glover asked\ngravely.\n\nCatelyn sighed. “If truth be told, I doubt even Lord Frey knows what Lord Frey intends\nto do. He has an old man’s caution and a young man’s ambition, and has never lacked\nfor cunning.”\n\n“We must have the Twins, Mother,” Robb said heatedly. “There is no other way across\nthe river. You know that.”\n\n“Yes. And so does Walder Frey, you can be sure of that.”\n\nThat night they made camp on the southern edge of the bogs, halfway between the\nkingsroad and the river. It was there Theon Greyjoy brought them further word from her\nuncle. “Ser Brynden says to tell you he’s crossed swords with the Lannisters. There are a\ndozen scouts who won’t be reporting back to Lord Tywin anytime soon. Or ever.” He\ngrinned. “Ser Addam Marbrand commands their outriders, and he’s pulling back south,\nburning as he goes. He knows where we are, more or less, but the Blackfish vows he will\nnot know when we split.”\n\n“Unless Lord Frey tells him,” Catelyn said sharply. “Theon, when you return to my uncle,\ntell him he is to place his best bowmen around the Twins, day and night, with orders to\nbring down any raven they see leaving the battlements. I want no birds bringing word of\nmy son’s movements to Lord Tywin.”\n\n“Ser Brynden has seen to it already, my lady,” Theon replied with a cocky smile. “A few\nmore blackbirds, and we should have enough to bake a pie. I’ll save you their feathers for\na hat.”\n\nShe ought to have known that Brynden Blackfish would be well ahead of her. “What have\nthe Freys been doing while the Lannisters burn their fields and plunder their holdfasts?”\n"
## [582] "“There’s been some fighting between Ser Addam’s men and Lord Walder’s,” Theon\nanswered. “Not a day’s ride from here, we found two Lannister scouts feeding the crows\nwhere the Freys had strung them up. Most of Lord Walder’s strength remains massed at\nthe Twins, though.”\n\nThat bore Walder Frey’s seal beyond a doubt, Catelyn thought bitterly; hold back, wait,\nwatch, take no risk unless forced to it.\n\n“If he’s been fighting the Lannisters, perhaps he does mean to hold to his vows,” Robb\nsaid.\n\nCatelyn was less encouraged. “Defending his own lands is one thing, open battle against\nLord Tywin quite another.”\n\nRobb turned back to Theon Greyjoy. “Has the Blackfish found any other way across the\nGreen Fork?”\n\nTheon shook his head. “The river’s running high and fast. Ser Brynden says it can’t be\nforded, not this far north.”\n\n“I must have that crossing!” Robb declared, fuming. “Oh, our horses might be able to\nswim the river, I suppose, but not with armored men on their backs. We’d need to build\nrafts to pole our steel across, helms and mail and lances, and we don’t have the trees for\nthat. Or the time. Lord Tywin is marching north . . . ” He balled his hand into a fist.\n\n“Lord Frey would be a fool to try and bar our way,” Theon Greyjoy said with his\ncustomary easy confidence. “We have five times his numbers. You can take the Twins if\nyou need to, Robb.”\n\n“Not easily,” Catelyn warned them, “and not in time. While you were mounting your\nsiege, Tywin Lannister would bring up his host and assault you from the rear.”\n\nRobb glanced from her to Greyjoy, searching for an answer and finding none. For a\nmoment he looked even younger than his fifteen years, despite his mail and sword and\nthe stubble on his cheeks. “What would my lord father do?” he asked her.\n\n“Find a way across,” she told him. “Whatever it took.”\n\nThe next morning it was Ser Brynden Tully himself who rode back to them. He had put\naside the heavy plate and helm he’d worn as the Knight of the Gate for the lighter leather-\nand-mail of an outrider, but his obsidian fish still fastened his cloak.\n"
## [583] "Her uncle’s face was grave as he swung down off his horse. “There has been a battle\nunder the walls of Riverrun,” he said, his mouth grim. “We had it from a Lannister\noutrider we took captive. The Kingslayer has destroyed Edmure’s host and sent the lords\nof the Trident reeling in flight.”\n\nA cold hand clutched at Catelyn’s heart. “And my brother?”\n\n“Wounded and taken prisoner,” Ser Brynden said. “Lord Blackwood and the other\nsurvivors are under siege inside Riverrun, surrounded by Jaime’s host.”\n\nRobb looked fretful. “We must get across this accursed river if we’re to have any hope of\nrelieving them in time.”\n\n“That will not be easily done,” her uncle cautioned. “Lord Frey has pulled his whole\nstrength back inside his castles, and his gates are closed and barred.”\n\n“Damn the man,” Robb swore. “If the old fool does not relent and let me cross, he’ll leave\nme no choice but to storm his walls. I’ll pull the Twins down around his ears if I have to,\nwe’ll see how well he likes that!”\n\n“You sound like a sulky boy, Robb,” Catelyn said sharply. “A child sees an obstacle, and\nhis first thought is to run around it or knock it down. A lord must learn that sometimes\nwords can accomplish what swords cannot.”\n\nRobb’s neck reddened at the rebuke. “Tell me what you mean, Mother,” he said meekly.\n\n“The Freys have held the crossing for six hundred years, and for six hundred years they\nhave never failed to exact their toll.”\n\n“What toll? What does he want?”\n\nShe smiled. “That is what we must discover.”\n\n“And what if I do not choose to pay this toll?”\n\n“Then you had best retreat back to Moat Cailin, deploy to meet Lord Tywin in\nbattle . . . or grow wings. I see no other choices.” Catelyn put her heels to her horse and\nrode off, leaving her son to ponder her words. It would not do to make him feel as if his\nmother were usurping his place. Did you teach him wisdom as well as valor, Ned? she\nwondered. Did you teach him how to kneel? The graveyards of the Seven Kingdoms\n"
## [584] "were full of brave men who had never learned that lesson.\n\nIt was near midday when their vanguard came in sight of the Twins, where the Lords of\nthe Crossing had their seat.\n\nThe Green Fork ran swift and deep here, but the Freys had spanned it many centuries\npast and grown rich off the coin men paid them to cross. Their bridge was a massive arch\nof smooth grey rock, wide enough for two wagons to pass abreast; the Water Tower rose\nfrom the center of the span, commanding both road and river with its arrow slits,\nmurder holes, and portcullises. It had taken the Freys three generations to complete\ntheir bridge; when they were done they’d thrown up stout timber keeps on either bank,\nso no one might cross without their leave.\n\nThe timber had long since given way to stone. The Twins—two squat, ugly, formidable\ncastles, identical in every respect, with the bridge arching between—had guarded the\ncrossing for centuries. High curtain walls, deep moats, and heavy oak-and-iron gates\nprotected the approaches, the bridge footings rose from within stout inner keeps, there\nwas a barbican and portcullis on either bank, and the Water Tower defended the span\nitself.\n\nOne glance was sufficient to tell Catelyn that the castle would not be taken by storm. The\nbattlements bristled with spears and swords and scorpions, there was an archer at every\ncrenel and arrow slit, the drawbridge was up, the portcullis down, the gates closed and\nbarred.\n\nThe Greatjon began to curse and swear as soon as he saw what awaited them. Lord\nRickard Karstark glowered in silence. “That cannot be assaulted, my lords,” Roose\nBolton announced.\n\n“Nor can we take it by siege, without an army on the far bank to invest the other castle,”\nHelman Tallhart said gloomily. Across the deep-running green waters, the western twin\nstood like a reflection of its eastern brother. “Even if we had the time. Which, to be sure,\nwe do not.”\n\nAs the northern lords studied the castle, a sally port opened, a plank bridge slid across\nthe moat, and a dozen knights rode forth to confront them, led by four of Lord Walder’s\nmany sons. Their banner bore twin towers, dark blue on a field of pale silver-grey. Ser\nStevron Frey, Lord Walder’s heir, spoke for them. The Freys all looked like weasels; Ser\nStevron, past sixty with grandchildren of his own, looked like an especially old and tired\nweasel, yet he was polite enough. “My lord father has sent me to greet you, and inquire\nas to who leads this mighty host.”\n"
## [585] "“I do.” Robb spurred his horse forward. He was in his armor, with the direwolf shield of\nWinterfell strapped to his saddle and Grey Wind padding by his side.\n\nThe old knight looked at her son with a faint flicker of amusement in his watery grey\neyes, though his gelding whickered uneasily and sidled away from the direwolf. “My lord\nfather would be most honored if you would share meat and mead with him in the castle\nand explain your purpose here.”\n\nHis words crashed among the lords bannermen like a great stone from a catapult. Not\none of them approved. They cursed, argued, shouted down each other.\n\n“You must not do this, my lord,” Galbart Glover pleaded with Robb. “Lord Walder is not\nto be trusted.”\n\nRoose Bolton nodded. “Go in there alone and you’re his. He can sell you to the\nLannisters, throw you in a dungeon, or slit your throat, as he likes.”\n\n“If he wants to talk to us, let him open his gates, and we will all share his meat and\nmead,” declared Ser Wendel Manderly.\n\n“Or let him come out and treat with Robb here, in plain sight of his men and ours,”\nsuggested his brother, Ser Wylis.\n\nCatelyn Stark shared all their doubts, but she had only to glance at Ser Stevron to see\nthat he was not pleased by what he was hearing. A few more words and the chance would\nbe lost. She had to act, and quickly. “I will go,” she said loudly.\n\n“You, my lady?” The Greatjon furrowed his brow.\n\n“Mother, are you certain?” Clearly, Robb was not.\n\n“Never more,” Catelyn lied glibly. “Lord Walder is my father’s bannerman. I have known\nhim since I was a girl. He would never offer me any harm.” Unless he saw some profit in\nit, she added silently, but some truths did not bear saying, and some lies were necessary.\n\n“I am certain my lord father would be pleased to speak to the Lady Catelyn,” Ser Stevron\nsaid. “To vouchsafe for our good intentions, my brother Ser Perwyn will remain here\nuntil she is safely returned to you.”\n\n“He shall be our honored guest,” said Robb. Ser Perwyn, the youngest of the four Freys\nin the party, dismounted and handed the reins of his horse to a brother. “I require my\nlady mother’s return by evenfall, Ser Stevron,” Robb went on. “It is not my intent to\n"
## [586] "linger here long.”\n\nSer Stevron Frey gave a polite nod. “As you say, my lord.” Catelyn spurred her horse\nforward and did not look back. Lord Walder’s sons and envoys fell in around her.\n\nHer father had once said of Walder Frey that he was the only lord in the Seven\nKingdoms who could field an army out of his breeches. When the Lord of the Crossing\nwelcomed Catelyn in the great hall of the east castle, surrounded by twenty living sons\n(minus Ser Perwyn, who would have made twenty-one), thirty-six grandsons, nineteen\ngreat-grandsons, and numerous daughters, granddaughters, bastards, and\ngrandbastards, she understood just what he had meant.\n\nLord Walder was ninety, a wizened pink weasel with a bald spotted head, too gouty to\nstand unassisted. His newest wife, a pale frail girl of sixteen years, walked beside his\nlitter when they carried him in. She was the eighth Lady Frey.\n\n“It is a great pleasure to see you again after so many years, my lord,” Catelyn said.\n\nThe old man squinted at her suspiciously. “Is it? I doubt that. Spare me your sweet\nwords, Lady Catelyn, I am too old. Why are you here? Is your boy too proud to come\nbefore me himself? What am I to do with you?”\n\nCatelyn had been a girl the last time she had visited the Twins, but even then Lord\nWalder had been irascible, sharp of tongue, and blunt of manner. Age had made him\nworse than ever, it would seem. She would need to choose her words with care, and do\nher best to take no offense from his.\n\n“Father,” Ser Stevron said reproachfully, “you forget yourself. Lady Stark is here at your\ninvitation.”\n\n“Did I ask you? You are not Lord Frey yet, not until I die. Do I look dead? I’ll hear no\ninstructions from you.”\n\n“This is no way to speak in front of our noble guest, Father,” one of his younger sons said.\n\n“Now my bastards presume to teach me courtesy,” Lord Walder complained. “I’ll speak\nany way I like, damn you. I’ve had three kings to guest in my life, and queens as well, do\nyou think I require lessons from the likes of you, Ryger? Your mother was milking goats\nthe first time I gave her my seed.” He dismissed the red-faced youth with a flick of his\nfingers and gestured to two of his other sons. “Danwell, Whalen, help me to my chair.”\n\nThey shifted Lord Walder from his litter and carried him to the high seat of the Freys, a\n"
## [587] "tall chair of black oak whose back was carved in the shape of two towers linked by a\nbridge. His young wife crept up timidly and covered his legs with a blanket. When he\nwas settled, the old man beckoned Catelyn forward and planted a papery dry kiss on her\nhand. “There,” he announced. “Now that I have observed the courtesies, my lady,\nperhaps my sons will do me the honor of shutting their mouths. Why are you here?”\n\n“To ask you to open your gates, my lord,” Catelyn replied politely. “My son and his lords\nbannermen are most anxious to cross the river and be on their way.”\n\n“To Riverrun?” He sniggered. “Oh, no need to tell me, no need. I’m not blind yet. The old\nman can still read a map.”\n\n“To Riverrun,” Catelyn confirmed. She saw no reason to deny it. “Where I might have\nexpected to find you, my lord. You are still my father’s bannerman, are you not?”\n\n“Heh,” said Lord Walder, a noise halfway between a laugh and a grunt. “I called my\nswords, yes I did, here they are, you saw them on the walls. It was my intent to march as\nsoon as all my strength was assembled. Well, to send my sons. I am well past marching\nmyself, Lady Catelyn.” He looked around for likely confirmation and pointed to a tall,\nstooped man of fifty years. “Tell her, Jared. Tell her that was my intent.”\n\n“It was, my lady,” said Ser Jared Frey, one of his sons by his second wife. “On my honor.”\n\n“Is it my fault that your fool brother lost his battle before we could march?” He leaned\nback against his cushions and scowled at her, as if challenging her to dispute his version\nof events. “I am told the Kingslayer went through him like an axe through ripe cheese.\nWhy should my boys hurry south to die? All those who did go south are running north\nagain.”\n\nCatelyn would gladly have spitted the querulous old man and roasted him over a fire, but\nshe had only till evenfall to open the bridge. Calmly, she said, “All the more reason that\nwe must reach Riverrun, and soon. Where can we go to talk, my lord?”\n\n“We’re talking now,” Lord Frey complained. The spotted pink head snapped around.\n“What are you all looking at?” he shouted at his kin. “Get out of here. Lady Stark wants\nto speak to me in private. Might be she has designs on my fidelity, heh. Go, all of you,\nfind something useful to do. Yes, you too, woman. Out, out, out.” As his sons and\ngrandsons and daughters and bastards and nieces and nephews streamed from the hall,\nhe leaned close to Catelyn and confessed, “They’re all waiting for me to die. Stevron’s\nbeen waiting for forty years, but I keep disappointing him. Heh. Why should I die just so\nhe can be a lord? I ask you. I won’t do it.”\n"
## [588] "“I have every hope that you will live to be a hundred.”\n\n“That would boil them, to be sure. Oh, to be sure. Now, what do you want to say?”\n\n“We want to cross,” Catelyn told him.\n\n“Oh, do you? That’s blunt. Why should I let you?”\n\nFor a moment her anger flared. “If you were strong enough to climb your own\nbattlements, Lord Frey, you would see that my son has twenty thousand men outside\nyour walls.”\n\n“They’ll be twenty thousand fresh corpses when Lord Tywin gets here,” the old man shot\nback. “Don’t you try and frighten me, my lady. Your husband’s in some traitor’s cell\nunder the Red Keep, your father’s sick, might be dying, and Jaime Lannister’s got your\nbrother in chains. What do you have that I should fear? That son of yours? I’ll match you\nson for son, and I’ll still have eighteen when yours are all dead.”\n\n“You swore an oath to my father,” Catelyn reminded him.\n\nHe bobbed his head side to side, smiling. “Oh, yes, I said some words, but I swore oaths\nto the crown too, it seems to me. Joffrey’s the king now, and that makes you and your\nboy and all those fools out there no better than rebels. If I had the sense the gods gave a\nfish, I’d help the Lannisters boil you all.”\n\n“Why don’t you?” she challenged him.\n\nLord Walder snorted with disdain. “Lord Tywin the proud and splendid, Warden of the\nWest, Hand of the King, oh, what a great man that one is, him and his gold this and gold\nthat and lions here and lions there. I’ll wager you, he eats too many beans, he breaks\nwind just like me, but you’ll never hear him admit it, oh, no. What’s he got to be so\npuffed up about anyway? Only two sons, and one of them’s a twisted little monster. I’ll\nmatch him son for son, and I’ll still have nineteen and a half left when all of his are\ndead!” He cackled. “If Lord Tywin wants my help, he can bloody well ask for it.”\n\nThat was all Catelyn needed to hear. “I am asking for your help, my lord,” she said\nhumbly. “And my father and my brother and my lord husband and my sons are asking\nwith my voice.”\n\nLord Walder jabbed a bony finger at her face. “Save your sweet words, my lady. Sweet\nwords I get from my wife. Did you see her? Sixteen she is, a little flower, and her honey’s\nonly for me. I wager she gives me a son by this time next year. Perhaps I’ll make him\n"
## [589] "heir, wouldn’t that boil the rest of them?”\n\n“I’m certain she will give you many sons.”\n\nHis head bobbed up and down. “Your lord father did not come to the wedding. An insult,\nas I see it. Even if he is dying. He never came to my last wedding either. He calls me the\nLate Lord Frey, you know. Does he think I’m dead? I’m not dead, and I promise you, I’ll\noutlive him as I outlived his father. Your family has always pissed on me, don’t deny it,\ndon’t lie, you know it’s true. Years ago, I went to your father and suggested a match\nbetween his son and my daughter. Why not? I had a daughter in mind, sweet girl, only a\nfew years older than Edmure, but if your brother didn’t warm to her, I had others he\nmight have had, young ones, old ones, virgins, widows, whatever he wanted. No, Lord\nHoster would not hear of it. Sweet words he gave me, excuses, but what I wanted was to\nget rid of a daughter.\n\n“And your sister, that one, she’s full as bad. It was, oh, a year ago, no more, Jon Arryn\nwas still the King’s Hand, and I went to the city to see my sons ride in the tourney.\nStevron and Jared are too old for the lists now, but Danwell and Hosteen rode, Perwyn\nas well, and a couple of my bastards tried the melee. If I’d known how they’d shame me,\nI would never have troubled myself to make the journey. Why did I need to ride all that\nway to see Hosteen knocked off his horse by that Tyrell whelp? I ask you. The boy’s half\nhis age, Ser Daisy they call him, something like that. And Danwell was unhorsed by a\nhedge knight! Some days I wonder if those two are truly mine. My third wife was a\nCrakehall, all of the Crakehall women are sluts. Well, never mind about that, she died\nbefore you were born, what do you care?\n\n“I was speaking of your sister. I proposed that Lord and Lady Arryn foster two of my\ngrandsons at court, and offered to take their own son to ward here at the Twins. Are my\ngrandsons unworthy to be seen at the king’s court? They are sweet boys, quiet and\nmannerly. Walder is Merrett’s son, named after me, and the other one . . . heh, I don’t\nrecall . . . he might have been another Walder, they’re always naming them Walder so I’ll\nfavor them, but his father . . . which one was his father now?” His face wrinkled up.\n“Well, whoever he was, Lord Arryn wouldn’t have him, or the other one, and I blame\nyour lady sister for that. She frosted up as if I’d suggested selling her boy to a mummer’s\nshow or making a eunuch out of him, and when Lord Arryn said the child was going to\nDragonstone to foster with Stannis Baratheon, she stormed off without a word of regrets\nand all the Hand could give me was apologies. What good are apologies? I ask you.”\n\nCatelyn frowned, disquieted. “I had understood that Lysa’s boy was to be fostered with\nLord Tywin at Casterly Rock.”\n\n“No, it was Lord Stannis,” Walder Frey said irritably. “Do you think I can’t tell Lord\n"
## [590] "Stannis from Lord Tywin? They’re both bungholes who think they’re too noble to shit,\nbut never mind about that, I know the difference. Or do you think I’m so old I can’t\nremember? I’m ninety and I remember very well. I remember what to do with a woman\ntoo. That wife of mine will give me a son before this time next year, I’ll wager. Or a\ndaughter, that can’t be helped. Boy or girl, it will be red, wrinkled, and squalling, and\nlike as not she’ll want to name it Walder or Walda.”\n\nCatelyn was not concerned with what Lady Frey might choose to name her child. “Jon\nArryn was going to foster his son with Lord Stannis, you are quite certain of that?”\n\n“Yes, yes, yes,” the old man said. “Only he died, so what does it matter? You say you\nwant to cross the river?”\n\n“We do.”\n\n“Well, you can’t!” Lord Walder announced crisply. “Not unless I allow it, and why should\nI? The Tullys and the Starks have never been friends of mine.” He pushed himself back\nin his chair and crossed his arms, smirking, waiting for her answer.\n\nThe rest was only haggling.\n\nA swollen red sun hung low against the western hills when the gates of the castle opened.\nThe drawbridge creaked down, the portcullis winched up, and Lady Catelyn Stark rode\nforth to rejoin her son and his lords bannermen. Behind her came Ser Jared Frey, Ser\nHosteen Frey, Ser Danwell Frey, and Lord Walder’s bastard son Ronel Rivers, leading a\nlong column of pikemen, rank on rank of shuffling men in blue steel ringmail and silvery\ngrey cloaks.\n\nRobb galloped out to meet her, with Grey Wind racing beside his stallion. “It’s done,”\nshe told him. “Lord Walder will grant you your crossing. His swords are yours as well,\nless four hundred he means to keep back to hold the Twins. I suggest that you leave four\nhundred of your own, a mixed force of archers and swordsmen. He can scarcely object to\nan offer to augment his garrison . . . but make certain you give the command to a man\nyou can trust. Lord Walder may need help keeping faith.”\n\n“As you say, Mother,” Robb answered, gazing at the ranks of pikemen. “Perhaps . . . Ser\nHelman Tallhart, do you think?”\n\n“A fine choice.”\n\n“What . . . what did he want of us?”\n"
## [591] "“If you can spare a few of your swords, I need some men to escort two of Lord Frey’s\ngrandsons north to Winterfell,” she told him. “I have agreed to take them as wards. They\nare young boys, aged eight years and seven. It would seem they are both named Walder.\nYour brother Bran will welcome the companionship of lads near his own age, I should\nthink.”\n\n“Is that all? Two fosterlings? That’s a small enough price to—”\n\n“Lord Frey’s son Olyvar will be coming with us,” she went on. “He is to serve as your\npersonal squire. His father would like to see him knighted, in good time.”\n\n“A squire.” He shrugged. “Fine, that’s fine, if he’s—”\n\n“Also, if your sister Arya is returned to us safely, it is agreed that she will marry Lord\nWalder’s youngest son, Elmar, when the two of them come of age.”\n\nRobb looked nonplussed. “Arya won’t like that one bit.”\n\n“And you are to wed one of his daughters, once the fighting is done,” she finished. “His\nlordship has graciously consented to allow you to choose whichever girl you prefer. He\nhas a number he thinks might be suitable.”\n\nTo his credit, Robb did not flinch. “I see.”\n\n“Do you consent?”\n\n“Can I refuse?”\n\n“Not if you wish to cross.”\n\n“I consent,” Robb said solemnly. He had never seemed more manly to her than he did in\nthat moment. Boys might play with swords, but it took a lord to make a marriage pact,\nknowing what it meant.\n\nThey crossed at evenfall as a horned moon floated upon the river. The double column\nwound its way through the gate of the eastern twin like a great steel snake, slithering\nacross the courtyard, into the keep and over the bridge, to issue forth once more from\nthe second castle on the west bank.\n\nCatelyn rode at the head of the serpent, with her son and her uncle Ser Brynden and Ser\nStevron Frey. Behind followed nine tenths of their horse; knights, lancers, freeriders,\n"
## [592] "and mounted bowmen. It took hours for them all to cross. Afterward, Catelyn would\nremember the clatter of countless hooves on the drawbridge, the sight of Lord Walder\nFrey in his litter watching them pass, the glitter of eyes peering down through the slats\nof the murder holes in the ceiling as they rode through the Water Tower.\n\nThe larger part of the northern host, pikes and archers and great masses of men-at-arms\non foot, remained upon the east bank under the command of Roose Bolton. Robb had\ncommanded him to continue the march south, to confront the huge Lannister army\ncoming north under Lord Tywin.\n\nFor good or ill, her son had thrown the dice.\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [593] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n JON\nAre you well, Snow?” Lord Mormont asked, scowling.\n\n“Well,” his raven squawked. “Well.”\n\n“I am, my lord,” Jon lied . . . loudly, as if that could make it true. “And you?”\n\nMormont frowned. “A dead man tried to kill me. How well could I be?” He scratched\nunder his chin. His shaggy grey beard had been singed in the fire, and he’d hacked it off.\nThe pale stubble of his new whiskers made him look old, disreputable, and grumpy. “You\ndo not look well. How is your hand?”\n\n“Healing.” Jon flexed his bandaged fingers to show him. He had burned himself more\nbadly than he knew throwing the flaming drapes, and his right hand was swathed in silk\nhalfway to the elbow. At the time he’d felt nothing; the agony had come after. His\ncracked red skin oozed fluid, and fearsome blood blisters rose between his fingers, big as\nroaches. “The maester says I’ll have scars, but otherwise the hand should be as good as it\nwas before.”\n\n“A scarred hand is nothing. On the Wall, you’ll be wearing gloves often as not.”\n\n“As you say, my lord.” It was not the thought of scars that troubled Jon; it was the rest of\nit. Maester Aemon had given him milk of the poppy, yet even so, the pain had been\nhideous. At first it had felt as if his hand were still aflame, burning day and night. Only\nplunging it into basins of snow and shaved ice gave any relief at all. Jon thanked the\ngods that no one but Ghost saw him writhing on his bed, whimpering from the pain. And\nwhen at last he did sleep, he dreamt, and that was even worse. In the dream, the corpse\nhe fought had blue eyes, black hands, and his father’s face, but he dared not tell\nMormont that.\n\n“Dywen and Hake returned last night,” the Old Bear said. “They found no sign of your\nuncle, no more than the others did.”\n\n“I know.” Jon had dragged himself to the common hall to sup with his friends, and the\nfailure of the rangers’ search had been all the men had been talking of.\n"
## [594] "“You know,” Mormont grumbled. “How is it that everyone knows everything around\nhere?” He did not seem to expect an answer. “It would seem there were only the two\nof . . . of those creatures, whatever they were, I will not call them men. And thank the\ngods for that. Any more and . . . well, that doesn’t bear thinking of. There will be more,\nthough. I can feel it in these old bones of mine, and Maester Aemon agrees. The cold\nwinds are rising. Summer is at an end, and a winter is coming such as this world has\nnever seen.”\n\nWinter is coming. The Stark words had never sounded so grim or ominous to Jon as\nthey did now. “My lord,” he asked hesitantly, “it’s said there was a bird last night . . . ”\n\n“There was. What of it?”\n\n“I had hoped for some word of my father.”\n\n“Father,” taunted the old raven, bobbing its head as it walked across Mormont’s\nshoulders. “Father.”\n\nThe Lord Commander reached up to pinch its beak shut, but the raven hopped up on his\nhead, fluttered its wings, and flew across the chamber to light above a window. “Grief\nand noise,” Mormont grumbled. “That’s all they’re good for, ravens. Why I put up with\nthat pestilential bird . . . if there was news of Lord Eddard, don’t you think I would have\nsent for you? Bastard or no, you’re still his blood. The message concerned Ser Barristan\nSelmy. It seems he’s been removed from the Kingsguard. They gave his place to that\nblack dog Clegane, and now Selmy’s wanted for treason. The fools sent some watchmen\nto seize him, but he slew two of them and escaped.” Mormont snorted, leaving no doubt\nof his view of men who’d send gold cloaks against a knight as renowed as Barristan the\nBold. “We have white shadows in the woods and unquiet dead stalking our halls, and a\nboy sits the Iron Throne,” he said in disgust.\n\nThe raven laughed shrilly. “Boy, boy, boy, boy.”\n\nSer Barristan had been the Old Bear’s best hope, Jon remembered; if he had fallen, what\nchance was there that Mormont’s letter would be heeded? He curled his hand into a fist.\nPain shot through his burned fingers. “What of my sisters?”\n\n“The message made no mention of Lord Eddard or the girls.” He gave an irritated shrug.\n“Perhaps they never got my letter. Aemon sent two copies, with his best birds, but who\ncan say? More like, Pycelle did not deign to reply. It would not be the first time, nor the\nlast. I fear we count for less than nothing in King’s Landing. They tell us what they want\nus to know, and that’s little enough.”\n"
## [595] "And you tell me what you want me to know, and that’s less, Jon thought resentfully.\nHis brother Robb had called the banners and ridden south to war, yet no word of that\nhad been breathed to him . . . save by Samwell Tarly, who’d read the letter to Maester\nAemon and whispered its contents to Jon that night in secret, all the time saying how he\nshouldn’t. Doubtless they thought his brother’s war was none of his concern. It troubled\nhim more than he could say. Robb was marching and he was not. No matter how often\nJon told himself that his place was here now, with his new brothers on the Wall, he still\nfelt craven.\n\n“Corn,” the raven was crying. “Corn, corn.”\n\n“Oh, be quiet,” the Old Bear told it. “Snow, how soon does Maester Aemon say you’ll\nhave use of that hand back?”\n\n“Soon,” Jon replied.\n\n“Good.” On the table between them, Lord Mormont laid a large sword in a black metal\nscabbard banded with silver. “Here. You’ll be ready for this, then.”\n\nThe raven flapped down and landed on the table, strutting toward the sword, head\ncocked curiously. Jon hesitated. He had no inkling what this meant. “My lord?”\n\n“The fire melted the silver off the pommel and burnt the crossguard and grip. Well, dry\nleather and old wood, what could you expect? The blade, now . . . you’d need a fire a\nhundred times as hot to harm the blade.” Mormont shoved the scabbard across the\nrough oak planks. “I had the rest made anew. Take it.”\n\n“Take it,” echoed his raven, preening. “Take it, take it.”\n\nAwkwardly, Jon took the sword in hand. His left hand; his bandaged right was still too\nraw and clumsy. Carefully he pulled it from its scabbard and raised it level with his eyes.\n\nThe pommel was a hunk of pale stone weighted with lead to balance the long blade. It\nhad been carved into the likeness of a snarling wolf’s head, with chips of garnet set into\nthe eyes. The grip was virgin leather, soft and black, as yet unstained by sweat or blood.\nThe blade itself was a good half foot longer than those Jon was used to, tapered to thrust\nas well as slash, with three fullers deeply incised in the metal. Where Ice was a true two-\nhanded greatsword, this was a hand-and-a-halfer, sometimes named a “bastard sword.”\nYet the wolf sword actually seemed lighter than the blades he had wielded before. When\nJon turned it sideways, he could see the ripples in the dark steel where the metal had\nbeen folded back on itself again and again. “This is Valyrian steel, my lord,” he said\nwonderingly. His father had let him handle Ice often enough; he knew the look, the feel.\n"
## [596] "“It is,” the Old Bear told him. “It was my father’s sword, and his father’s before him. The\nMormonts have carried it for five centuries. I wielded it in my day and passed it on to my\nson when I took the black.”\n\nHe is giving me his son’s sword. Jon could scarcely believe it. The blade was exquisitely\nbalanced. The edges glimmered faintly as they kissed the light. “Your son—”\n\n“My son brought dishonor to House Mormont, but at least he had the grace to leave the\nsword behind when he fled. My sister returned it to my keeping, but the very sight of it\nreminded me of Jorah’s shame, so I put it aside and thought no more of it until we found\nit in the ashes of my bedchamber. The original pommel was a bear’s head, silver, yet so\nworn its features were all but indistinguishable. For you, I thought a white wolf more\napt. One of our builders is a fair stonecarver.”\n\nWhen Jon had been Bran’s age, he had dreamed of doing great deeds, as boys always\ndid. The details of his feats changed with every dreaming, but quite often he imagined\nsaving his father’s life. Afterward Lord Eddard would declare that Jon had proved\nhimself a true Stark, and place Ice in his hand. Even then he had known it was only a\nchild’s folly; no bastard could ever hope to wield a father’s sword. Even the memory\nshamed him. What kind of man stole his own brother’s birthright? I have no right to\nthis, he thought, no more than to Ice. He twitched his burned fingers, feeling a throb of\npain deep under the skin. “My lord, you honor me, but—”\n\n“Spare me your but’s, boy,” Lord Mormont interrupted. “I would not be sitting here were\nit not for you and that beast of yours. You fought bravely . . . and more to the point, you\nthought quickly. Fire! Yes, damn it. We ought to have known. We ought to have\nremembered. The Long Night has come before. Oh, eight thousand years is a good while,\nto be sure . . . yet if the Night’s Watch does not remember, who will?”\n\n“Who will,” chimed the talkative raven. “Who will.”\n\nTruly, the gods had heard Jon’s prayer that night; the fire had caught in the dead man’s\nclothing and consumed him as if his flesh were candle wax and his bones old dry wood.\nJon had only to close his eyes to see the thing staggering across the solar, crashing\nagainst the furniture and flailing at the flames. It was the face that haunted him most;\nsurrounded by a nimbus of fire, hair blazing like straw, the dead flesh melting away and\nsloughing off its skull to reveal the gleam of bone beneath.\n\nWhatever demonic force moved Othor had been driven out by the flames; the twisted\nthing they had found in the ashes had been no more than cooked meat and charred\nbone. Yet in his nightmare he faced it again . . . and this time the burning corpse wore\n"
## [597] "Lord Eddard’s features. It was his father’s skin that burst and blackened, his father’s\neyes that ran liquid down his cheeks like jellied tears. Jon did not understand why that\nshould be or what it might mean, but it frightened him more than he could say.\n\n“A sword’s small payment for a life,” Mormont concluded. “Take it, I’ll hear no more of\nit, is that understood?”\n\n“Yes, my lord.” The soft leather gave beneath Jon’s fingers, as if the sword were molding\nitself to his grip already. He knew he should be honored, and he was, and yet . . .\n\nHe is not my father. The thought leapt unbidden to Jon’s mind. Lord Eddard Stark is\nmy father. I will not forget him, no matter how many swords they give me. Yet he\ncould scarcely tell Lord Mormont that it was another man’s sword he dreamt of . . .\n\n“I want no courtesies either,” Mormont said, “so thank me no thanks. Honor the steel\nwith deeds, not words.”\n\nJon nodded. “Does it have a name, my lord?”\n\n“It did, once. Longclaw, it was called.”\n\n“Claw,” the raven cried. “Claw.”\n\n“Longclaw is an apt name.” Jon tried a practice cut. He was clumsy and uncomfortable\nwith his left hand, yet even so the steel seemed to flow through the air, as if it had a will\nof its own. “Wolves have claws, as much as bears.”\n\nThe Old Bear seemed pleased by that. “I suppose they do. You’ll want to wear that over\nthe shoulder, I imagine. It’s too long for the hip, at least until you’ve put on a few inches.\nAnd you’ll need to work at your two-handed strikes as well. Ser Endrew can show you\nsome moves, when your burns have healed.”\n\n“Ser Endrew?” Jon did not know the name.\n\n“Ser Endrew Tarth, a good man. He’s on his way from the Shadow Tower to assume the\nduties of master-at-arms. Ser Alliser Thorne left yestermorn for Eastwatch-by-the-Sea.”\n\nJon lowered the sword. “Why?” he said, stupidly.\n\nMormont snorted. “Because I sent him, why do you think? He’s bringing the hand your\nGhost tore off the end of Jafer Flowers’s wrist. I have commanded him to take ship to\n"
## [598] "King’s Landing and lay it before this boy king. That should get young Joffrey’s attention,\nI’d think . . . and Ser Alliser’s a knight, highborn, anointed, with old friends at court,\naltogether harder to ignore than a glorified crow.”\n\n“Crow.” Jon thought the raven sounded faintly indignant.\n\n“As well,” the Lord Commander continued, ignoring the bird’s protest, “it puts a\nthousand leagues twixt him and you without it seeming a rebuke.” He jabbed a finger up\nat Jon’s face. “And don’t think this means I approve of that nonsense in the common\nhall. Valor makes up for a fair amount of folly, but you’re not a boy anymore, however\nmany years you’ve seen. That’s a man’s sword you have there, and it will take a man to\nwield her. I’ll expect you to act the part, henceforth.”\n\n“Yes, my lord.” Jon slid the sword back into the silver-banded scabbard. If not the blade\nhe would have chosen, it was nonetheless a noble gift, and freeing him from Alliser\nThorne’s malignance was nobler still.\n\nThe Old Bear scratched at his chin. “I had forgotten how much a new beard itches,” he\nsaid. “Well, no help for that. Is that hand of yours healed enough to resume your duties?”\n\n“Yes, my lord.”\n\n“Good. The night will be cold, I’ll want hot spice wine. Find me a flagon of red, not too\nsour, and don’t skimp on the spices. And tell Hobb that if he sends me boiled mutton\nagain I’m like to boil him. That last haunch was grey. Even the bird wouldn’t touch it.”\nHe stroked the raven’s head with his thumb, and the bird made a contented quorking\nsound. “Away with you. I’ve work to do.”\n\nThe guards smiled at him from their niches as he wound his way down the turret stair,\ncarrying the sword in his good hand. “Sweet steel,” one man said. “You earned that,\nSnow,” another told him. Jon made himself smile back at them, but his heart was not in\nit. He knew he should be pleased, yet he did not feel it. His hand ached, and the taste of\nanger was in his mouth, though he could not have said who he was angry with or why.\n\nA half dozen of his friends were lurking outside when he left the King’s Tower, where\nLord Commander Mormont now made his residence. They’d hung a target on the\ngranary doors, so they could seem to be honing their skills as archers, but he knew\nlurkers when he saw them. No sooner did he emerge than Pyp called out, “Well, come\nabout, let’s have a look.”\n\n“At what?” Jon said.\n"
## [599] "Toad sidled close. “Your rosy butt cheeks, what else?”\n\n“The sword,” Grenn stated. “We want to see the sword.”\n\nJon raked them with an accusing look. “You knew.”\n\nPyp grinned. “We’re not all as dumb as Grenn.”\n\n“You are so,” insisted Grenn. “You’re dumber.”\n\nHalder gave an apologetic shrug. “I helped Pate carve the stone for the pommel,” the\nbuilder said, “and your friend Sam bought the garnets in Mole’s Town.”\n\n“We knew even before that, though,” Grenn said. “Rudge has been helping Donal Noye\nin the forge. He was there when the Old Bear brought him the burnt blade.”\n\n“The sword!” Matt insisted. The others took up the chant. “The sword, the sword, the\nsword.”\n\nJon unsheathed Longclaw and showed it to them, turning it this way and that so they\ncould admire it. The bastard blade glittered in the pale sunlight, dark and deadly.\n“Valyrian steel,” he declared solemnly, trying to sound as pleased and proud as he ought\nto have felt.\n\n“I heard of a man who had a razor made of Valyrian steel,” declared Toad. “He cut his\nhead off trying to shave.”\n\nPyp grinned. “The Night’s Watch is thousands of years old,” he said, “but I’ll wager Lord\nSnow’s the first brother ever honored for burning down the Lord Commander’s Tower.”\n\nThe others laughed, and even Jon had to smile. The fire he’d started had not, in truth,\nburned down that formidable stone tower, but it had done a fair job of gutting the\ninterior of the top two floors, where the Old Bear had his chambers. No one seemed to\nmind that very much, since it had also destroyed Othor’s murderous corpse.\n\nThe other wight, the one-handed thing that had once been a ranger named Jafer\nFlowers, had also been destroyed, cut near to pieces by a dozen swords . . . but not before\nit had slain Ser Jaremy Rykker and four other men. Ser Jaremy had finished the job of\nhacking its head off, yet had died all the same when the headless corpse pulled his own\ndagger from its sheath and buried it in his bowels. Strength and courage did not avail\nmuch against foemen who would not fall because they were already dead; even arms and\narmor offered small protection.\n"
## [600] "That grim thought soured Jon’s fragile mood. “I need to see Hobb about the Old Bear’s\nsupper,” he announced brusquely, sliding Longclaw back into its scabbard. His friends\nmeant well, but they did not understand. It was not their fault, truly; they had not had to\nface Othor, they had not seen the pale glow of those dead blue eyes, had not felt the cold\nof those dead black fingers. Nor did they know of the fighting in the riverlands. How\ncould they hope to comprehend? He turned away from them abruptly and strode off,\nsullen. Pyp called after him, but Jon paid him no mind.\n\nThey had moved him back to his old cell in tumbledown Hardin’s Tower after the fire,\nand it was there he returned. Ghost was curled up asleep beside the door, but he lifted\nhis head at the sound of Jon’s boots. The direwolf’s red eyes were darker than garnets\nand wiser than men. Jon knelt, scratched his ear, and showed him the pommel of the\nsword. “Look. It’s you.”\n\nGhost sniffed at his carved stone likeness and tried a lick. Jon smiled. “You’re the one\ndeserves an honor,” he told the wolf . . . and suddenly he found himself remembering\nhow he’d found him, that day in the late summer snow. They had been riding off with\nthe other pups, but Jon had heard a noise and turned back, and there he was, white fur\nalmost invisible against the drifts. He was all alone, he thought, apart from the others\nin the litter. He was different, so they drove him out.\n\n“Jon?” He looked up. Samwell Tarly stood rocking nervously on his heels. His cheeks\nwere red, and he was wrapped in a heavy fur cloak that made him look ready for\nhibernation.\n\n“Sam.” Jon stood. “What is it? Do you want to see the sword?” If the others had known,\nno doubt Sam did too.\n\nThe fat boy shook his head. “I was heir to my father’s blade once,” he said mournfully.\n“Heartsbane. Lord Randyll let me hold it a few times, but it always scared me. It was\nValyrian steel, beautiful but so sharp I was afraid I’d hurt one of my sisters. Dickon will\nhave it now.” He wiped sweaty hands on his cloak. “I ah . . . Maester Aemon wants to see\nyou.”\n\nIt was not time for his bandages to be changed. Jon frowned suspiciously. “Why?” he\ndemanded. Sam looked miserable. That was answer enough. “You told him, didn’t you?”\nJon said angrily. “You told him that you told me.”\n\n“I . . . he . . . Jon, I didn’t want to . . . he asked . . . I mean I think he knew, he sees things\nno one else sees . . . ”\n"
## [601] "“He’s blind,” Jon pointed out forcefully, disgusted. “I can find the way myself.” He left\nSam standing there, openmouthed and quivering.\n\nHe found Maester Aemon up in the rookery, feeding the ravens. Clydas was with him,\ncarrying a bucket of chopped meat as they shuffled from cage to cage. “Sam said you\nwanted me?”\n\nThe maester nodded. “I did indeed. Clydas, give Jon the bucket. Perhaps he will be kind\nenough to assist me.” The hunched, pink-eyed brother handed Jon the bucket and\nscurried down the ladder. “Toss the meat into the cages,” Aemon instructed him. “The\nbirds will do the rest. “\n\nJon shifted the bucket to his right hand and thrust his left down into the bloody bits. The\nravens began to scream noisily and fly at the bars, beating at the metal with night-black\nwings. The meat had been chopped into pieces no larger than a finger joint. He filled his\nfist and tossed the raw red morsels into the cage, and the squawking and squabbling\ngrew hotter. Feathers flew as two of the larger birds fought over a choice piece. Quickly\nJon grabbed a second handful and threw it in after the first. “Lord Mormont’s raven\nlikes fruit and corn.”\n\n“He is a rare bird,” the maester said. “Most ravens will eat grain, but they prefer flesh. It\nmakes them strong, and I fear they relish the taste of blood. In that they are like\nmen . . . and like men, not all ravens are alike.”\n\nJon had nothing to say to that. He threw meat, wondering why he’d been summoned. No\ndoubt the old man would tell him, in his own good time. Maester Aemon was not a man\nto be hurried.\n\n“Doves and pigeons can also be trained to carry messages,” the maester went on,\n“though the raven is a stronger flyer, larger, bolder, far more clever, better able to defend\nitself against hawks . . . yet ravens are black, and they eat the dead, so some godly men\nabhor them. Baelor the Blessed tried to replace all the ravens with doves, did you know?”\nThe maester turned his white eyes on Jon, smiling. “The Night’s Watch prefers ravens.”\n\nJon’s fingers were in the bucket, blood up to the wrist. “Dywen says the wildlings call us\ncrows,” he said uncertainty.\n\n“The crow is the raven’s poor cousin. They are both beggars in black, hated and\nmisunderstood.”\n\nJon wished he understood what they were talking about, and why. What did he care\nabout ravens and doves? If the old man had something to say to him, why couldn’t he\n"
## [602] "just say it?\n\n“Jon, did you ever wonder why the men of the Night’s Watch take no wives and father\nno children?” Maester Aemon asked.\n\nJon shrugged. “No.” He scattered more meat. The fingers of his left hand were slimy\nwith blood, and his right throbbed from the weight of the bucket.\n\n“So they will not love,” the old man answered, “for love is the bane of honor, the death of\nduty.”\n\nThat did not sound right to Jon, yet he said nothing. The maester was a hundred years\nold, and a high officer of the Night’s Watch; it was not his place to contradict him.\n\nThe old man seemed to sense his doubts. “Tell me, Jon, if the day should ever come\nwhen your lord father must needs choose between honor on the one hand and those he\nloves on the other, what would he do?”\n\nJon hesitated. He wanted to say that Lord Eddard would never dishonor himself, not\neven for love, yet inside a small sly voice whispered, He fathered a bastard, where was\nthe honor in that? And your mother, what of his duty to her, he will not even say her\nname. “He would do whatever was right,” he said . . . ringingly, to make up for his\nhesitation. “No matter what.”\n\n“Then Lord Eddard is a man in ten thousand. Most of us are not so strong. What is\nhonor compared to a woman’s love? What is duty against the feel of a newborn son in\nyour arms . . . or the memory of a brother’s smile? Wind and words. Wind and words.\nWe are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, and\nour great tragedy.\n\n“The men who formed the Night’s Watch knew that only their courage shielded the\nrealm from the darkness to the north. They knew they must have no divided loyalties to\nweaken their resolve. So they vowed they would have no wives nor children.\n\n“Yet brothers they had, and sisters. Mothers who gave them birth, fathers who gave\nthem names. They came from a hundred quarrelsome kingdoms, and they knew times\nmay change, but men do not. So they pledged as well that the Night’s Watch would take\nno part in the battles of the realms it guarded.\n\n“They kept their pledge. When Aegon slew Black Harren and claimed his kingdom,\nHarren’s brother was Lord Commander on the Wall, with ten thousand swords to hand.\nHe did not march. In the days when the Seven Kingdoms were seven kingdoms, not a\n"
## [603] "generation passed that three or four of them were not at war. The Watch took no part.\nWhen the Andals crossed the narrow sea and swept away the kingdoms of the First Men,\nthe sons of the fallen kings held true to their vows and remained at their posts. So it has\nalways been, for years beyond counting. Such is the price of honor.\n\n“A craven can be as brave as any man, when there is nothing to fear. And we all do our\nduty, when there is no cost to it. How easy it seems then, to walk the path of honor. Yet\nsoon or late in every man’s life comes a day when it is not easy, a day when he must\nchoose.”\n\nSome of the ravens were still eating, long stringy bits of meat dangling from their beaks.\nThe rest seemed to be watching him. Jon could feel the weight of all those tiny black\neyes. “And this is my day . . . is that what you’re saying?”\n\nMaester Aemon turned his head and looked at him with those dead white eyes. It was as\nif he were seeing right into his heart. Jon felt naked and exposed. He took the bucket in\nboth hands and flung the rest of the slops through the bars. Strings of meat and blood\nflew everywhere, scattering the ravens. They took to the air, shrieking wildly. The\nquicker birds snatched morsels on the wing and gulped them down greedily. Jon let the\nempty bucket clang to the floor.\n\nThe old man laid a withered, spotted hand on his shoulder. “It hurts, boy,” he said softly.\n“Oh, yes. Choosing . . . it has always hurt. And always will. I know.”\n\n“You don’t know,” Jon said bitterly. “No one knows. Even if I am his bastard, he’s still\nmy father . . . ”\n\nMaester Aemon sighed. “Have you heard nothing I’ve told you, Jon? Do you think you\nare the first?” He shook his ancient head, a gesture weary beyond words. “Three times\nthe gods saw fit to test my vows. Once when I was a boy, once in the fullness of my\nmanhood, and once when I had grown old. By then my strength was fled, my eyes grown\ndim, yet that last choice was as cruel as the first. My ravens would bring the news from\nthe south, words darker than their wings, the ruin of my House, the death of my kin,\ndisgrace and desolation. What could I have done, old, blind, frail? I was helpless as a\nsuckling babe, yet still it grieved me to sit forgotten as they cut down my brother’s poor\ngrandson, and his son, and even the little children . . . ”\n\nJon was shocked to see the shine of tears in the old man’s eyes. “Who are you?” he asked\nquietly, almost in dread.\n\nA toothless smile quivered on the ancient lips. “Only a maester of the Citadel, bound in\nservice to Castle Black and the Night’s Watch. In my order, we put aside our house\n"
## [604] "names when we take our vows and don the collar.” The old man touched the maester’s\nchain that hung loosely around his thin, fleshless neck. “My father was Maekar, the First\nof his Name, and my brother Aegon reigned after him in my stead. My grandfather\nnamed me for Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, who was his uncle, or his father,\ndepending on which tale you believe. Aemon, he called me . . . ”\n\n“Aemon . . . Targaryen?” Jon could scarcely believe it.\n\n“Once,” the old man said. “Once. So you see, Jon, I do know . . . and knowing, I will not\ntell you stay or go. You must make that choice yourself, and live with it all the rest of\nyour days. As I have.” His voice fell to a whisper. “As I have . . . ”\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [605] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n DAENERYS\nWhen the battle was done, Dany rode her silver through the fields of the dead. Her\nhandmaids and the men of her khas came after, smiling and jesting among themselves.\n\nDothraki hooves had torn the earth and trampled the rye and lentils into the ground,\nwhile arakhs and arrows had sown a terrible new crop and watered it with blood. Dying\nhorses lifted their heads and screamed at her as she rode past. Wounded men moaned\nand prayed. Jaqqa rhan moved among them, the mercy men with their heavy axes,\ntaking a harvest of heads from the dead and dying alike. After them would scurry a flock\nof small girls, pulling arrows from the corpses to fill their baskets. Last of all the dogs\nwould come sniffing, lean and hungry, the feral pack that was never far behind the\nkhalasar.\n\nThe sheep had been dead longest. There seemed to be thousands of them, black with\nflies, arrow shafts bristling from each carcass. Khal Ogo’s riders had done that, Dany\nknew; no man of Drogo’s khalasar would be such a fool as to waste his arrows on sheep\nwhen there were shepherds yet to kill.\n\nThe town was afire, black plumes of smoke roiling and tumbling as they rose into a hard\nblue sky. Beneath broken walls of dried mud, riders galloped back and forth, swinging\ntheir long whips as they herded the survivors from the smoking rubble. The women and\nchildren of Ogo’s khalasar walked with a sullen pride, even in defeat and bondage; they\nwere slaves now, but they seemed not to fear it. It was different with the townsfolk. Dany\npitied them; she remembered what terror felt like. Mothers stumbled along with blank,\ndead faces, pulling sobbing children by the hand. There were only a few men among\nthem, cripples and cowards and grandfathers.\n\nSer Jorah said the people of this country named themselves the Lhazareen, but the\nDothraki called them haesh rakhi, the Lamb Men. Once Dany might have taken them for\nDothraki, for they had the same copper skin and almond-shaped eyes. Now they looked\nalien to her, squat and flat-faced, their black hair cropped unnaturally short. They were\nherders of sheep and eaters of vegetables, and Khal Drogo said they belonged south of\nthe river bend. The grass of the Dothraki sea was not meant for sheep.\n\nDany saw one boy bolt and run for the river. A rider cut him off and turned him, and the\nothers boxed him in, cracking their whips in his face, running him this way and that.\n"
## [606] "One galloped behind him, lashing him across the buttocks until his thighs ran red with\nblood. Another snared his ankle with a lash and sent him sprawling. Finally, when the\nboy could only crawl, they grew bored of the sport and put an arrow through his back.\n\nSer Jorah met her outside the shattered gate. He wore a dark green surcoat over his\nmail. His gauntlets, greaves, and greathelm were dark grey steel. The Dothraki had\nmocked him for a coward when he donned his armor, but the knight had spit insults\nright back in their teeth, tempers had flared, longsword had clashed with arakh, and the\nrider whose taunts had been loudest had been left behind to bleed to death.\n\nSer Jorah lifted the visor of his flat-topped greathelm as he rode up. “Your lord husband\nawaits you within the town.”\n\n“Drogo took no harm?”\n\n“A few cuts,” Ser Jorah answered, “nothing of consequence. He slew two khals this day.\nKhal Ogo first, and then the son, Fogo, who became khal when Ogo fell. His bloodriders\ncut the bells from their hair, and now Khal Drogo’s every step rings louder than before.”\n\nOgo and his son had shared the high bench with her lord husband at the naming feast\nwhere Viserys had been crowned, but that was in Vaes Dothrak, beneath the Mother of\nMountains, where every rider was a brother and all quarrels were put aside. It was\ndifferent out in the grass. Ogo’s khalasar had been attacking the town when Khal Drogo\ncaught him. She wondered what the Lamb Men had thought, when they first saw the\ndust of their horses from atop those cracked-mud walls. Perhaps a few, the younger and\nmore foolish who still believed that the gods heard the prayers of desperate men, took it\nfor deliverance.\n\nAcross the road, a girl no older than Dany was sobbing in a high thin voice as a rider\nshoved her over a pile of corpses, facedown, and thrust himself inside her. Other riders\ndismounted to take their turns. That was the sort of deliverance the Dothraki brought\nthe Lamb Men.\n\nI am the blood of the dragon, Daenerys Targaryen reminded herself as she turned her\nface away. She pressed her lips together and hardened her heart and rode on toward the\ngate.\n\n“Most of Ogo’s riders fled,” Ser Jorah was saying. “Still, there may be as many as ten\nthousand captives.”\n\nSlaves, Dany thought. Khal Drogo would drive them downriver to one of the towns on\nSlaver’s Bay. She wanted to cry, but she told herself that she must be strong. This is war,\n"
## [607] "this is what it looks like, this is the price of the Iron Throne.\n\n“I’ve told the khal he ought to make for Meereen,” Ser Jorah said. “They’ll pay a better\nprice than he’d get from a slaving caravan. Illyrio writes that they had a plague last year,\nso the brothels are paying double for healthy young girls, and triple for boys under ten. If\nenough children survive the journey, the gold will buy us all the ships we need, and hire\nmen to sail them.”\n\nBehind them, the girl being raped made a heartrending sound, a long sobbing wail that\nwent on and on and on. Dany’s hand clenched hard around the reins, and she turned the\nsilver’s head. “Make them stop,” she commanded Ser Jorah.\n\n“Khaleesi?” The knight sounded perplexed.\n\n“You heard my words,” she said. “Stop them.” She spoke to her khas in the harsh accents\nof Dothraki. “Jhogo, Quaro, you will aid Ser Jorah. I want no rape.”\n\nThe warriors exchanged a baffled look.\n\nJorah Mormont spurred his horse closer. “Princess,” he said, “you have a gentle heart,\nbut you do not understand. This is how it has always been. Those men have shed blood\nfor the khal. Now they claim their reward.”\n\nAcross the road, the girl was still crying, her high singsong tongue strange to Dany’s\nears. The first man was done with her now, and a second had taken his place.\n\n“She is a lamb girl,” Quaro said in Dothraki. “She is nothing, Khaleesi. The riders do her\nhonor. The Lamb Men lay with sheep, it is known.”\n\n“It is known,” her handmaid Irri echoed.\n\n“It is known,” agreed Jhogo, astride the tall grey stallion that Drogo had given him. “If\nher wailing offends your ears, Khaleesi, Jhogo will bring you her tongue.” He drew his\narakh.\n\n“I will not have her harmed,” Dany said. “I claim her. Do as I command you, or Khal\nDrogo will know the reason why.”\n\n“Ai, Khaleesi,” Jhogo replied, kicking his horse. Quaro and the others followed his lead,\nthe bells in their hair chiming.\n"
## [608] "“Go with them,” she commanded Ser Jorah.\n\n“As you command.” The knight gave her a curious look. “You are your brother’s sister, in\ntruth.”\n\n“Viserys?” She did not understand.\n\n“No,” he answered. “Rhaegar.” He galloped off.\n\nDany heard Jhogo shout. The rapers laughed at him. One man shouted back. Jhogo’s\narakh flashed, and the man’s head went tumbling from his shoulders. Laughter turned\nto curses as the horsemen reached for weapons, but by then Quaro and Aggo and\nRakharo were there. She saw Aggo point across the road to where she sat upon her\nsilver. The riders looked at her with cold black eyes. One spat. The others scattered to\ntheir mounts, muttering.\n\nAll the while the man atop the lamb girl continued to plunge in and out of her, so intent\non his pleasure that he seemed unaware of what was going on around him. Ser Jorah\ndismounted and wrenched him off with a mailed hand. The Dothraki went sprawling in\nthe mud, bounced up with a knife in hand, and died with Aggo’s arrow through his\nthroat. Mormont pulled the girl off the pile of corpses and wrapped her in his blood-\nspattered cloak. He led her across the road to Dany. “What do you want done with her?”\n\nThe girl was trembling, her eyes wide and vague. Her hair was matted with blood.\n“Doreah, see to her hurts. You do not have a rider’s look, perhaps she will not fear you.\nThe rest, with me.” She urged the silver through the broken wooden gate.\n\nIt was worse inside the town. Many of the houses were afire, and the jaqqa rhan had\nbeen about their grisly work. Headless corpses filled the narrow, twisty lanes. They\npassed other women being raped. Each time Dany reined up, sent her khas to make an\nend to it, and claimed the victim as slave. One of them, a thick-bodied, flat-nosed\nwoman of forty years, blessed Dany haltingly in the Common Tongue, but from the\nothers she got only flat black stares. They were suspicious of her, she realized with\nsadness; afraid that she had saved them for some worse fate.\n\n“You cannot claim them all, child,” Ser Jorah said, the fourth time they stopped, while\nthe warriors of her khas herded her new slaves behind her.\n\n“I am khaleesi, heir to the Seven Kingdoms, the blood of the dragon,” Dany reminded\nhim. “It is not for you to tell me what I cannot do.” Across the city, a building collapsed\nin a great gout of fire and smoke, and she heard distant screams and the wailing of\nfrightened children.\n"
## [609] "They found Khal Drogo seated before a square windowless temple with thick mud walls\nand a bulbous dome like some immense brown onion. Beside him was a pile of heads\ntaller than he was. One of the short arrows of the Lamb Men stuck through the meat of\nhis upper arm, and blood covered the left side of his bare chest like a splash of paint. His\nthree bloodriders were with him.\n\nJhiqui helped Dany dismount; she had grown clumsy as her belly grew larger and\nheavier. She knelt before the khal. “My sun-and-stars is wounded.” The arakh cut was\nwide but shallow; his left nipple was gone, and a flap of bloody flesh and skin dangled\nfrom his chest like a wet rag.\n\n“Is scratch, moon of life, from arakh of one bloodrider to Khal Ogo,” Khal Drogo said in\nthe Common Tongue. “I kill him for it, and Ogo too.” He turned his head, the bells in his\nbraid ringing softly. “Is Ogo you hear, and Fogo his khalakka, who was khal when I slew\nhim.”\n\n“No man can stand before the sun of my life,” Dany said, “the father of the stallion who\nmounts the world.”\n\nA mounted warrior rode up and vaulted from his saddle. He spoke to Haggo, a stream of\nangry Dothraki too fast for Dany to understand. The huge bloodrider gave her a heavy\nlook before he turned to his khal “This one is Mago, who rides in the khas of Ko Jhaqo.\nHe says the khaleesi has taken his spoils, a daughter of the lambs who was his to mount.”\n\nKhal Drogo’s face was still and hard, but his black eyes were curious as they went to\nDany. “Tell me the truth of this, moon of my life,” he commanded in Dothraki.\n\nDany told him what she had done, in his own tongue so the khal would understand her\nbetter, her words simple and direct.\n\nWhen she was done, Drogo was frowning. “This is the way of war. These women are our\nslaves now, to do with as we please.”\n\n“It pleases me to hold them safe,” Dany said, wondering if she had dared too much. “If\nyour warriors would mount these women, let them take them gently and keep them for\nwives. Give them places in the khalasar and let them bear you sons.”\n\nQotho was ever the cruelest of the bloodriders. It was he who laughed. “Does the horse\nbreed with the sheep?”\n\nSomething in his tone reminded her of Viserys. Dany turned on him angrily. “The\n"
## [610] "dragon feeds on horse and sheep alike.”\n\nKhal Drogo smiled. “See how fierce she grows!” he said. “It is my son inside her, the\nstallion who mounts the world, filling her with his fire. Ride slowly, Qotho . . . if the\nmother does not burn you where you sit, the son will trample you into the mud. And you,\nMago, hold your tongue and find another lamb to mount. These belong to my khaleesi.”\nHe started to reach out a hand to Daenerys, but as he lifted his arm Drogo grimaced in\nsudden pain and turned his head.\n\nDany could almost feel his agony. The wounds were worse than Ser Jorah had led her to\nbelieve. “Where are the healers?” she demanded. The khalasar had two sorts: barren\nwomen and eunuch slaves. The herbwomen dealt in potions and spells, the eunuchs in\nknife, needle, and fire. “Why do they not attend the khal?”\n\n“The khal sent the hairless men away, Khaleesi,” old Cohollo assured her. Dany saw the\nbloodrider had taken a wound himself; a deep gash in his left shoulder.\n\n“Many riders are hurt,” Khal Drogo said stubbornly. “Let them be healed first. This\narrow is no more than the bite of a fly, this little cut only a new scar to boast of to my\nson.”\n\nDany could see the muscles in his chest where the skin had been cut away. A trickle of\nblood ran from the arrow that pierced his arm. “It is not for Khal Drogo to wait,” she\nproclaimed. “Jhogo, seek out these eunuchs and bring them here at once.”\n\n“Silver Lady,” a woman’s voice said behind her, “I can help the Great Rider with his\nhurts.”\n\nDany turned her head. The speaker was one of the slaves she had claimed, the heavy, flat-\nnosed woman who had blessed her.\n\n“The khal needs no help from women who lie with sheep,” barked Qotho. “Aggo, cut out\nher tongue.”\n\nAggo grabbed her hair and pressed a knife to her throat.\n\nDany lifted a hand. “No. She is mine. Let her speak.”\n\nAggo looked from her to Qotho. He lowered his knife.\n\n“I meant no wrong, fierce riders.” The woman spoke Dothraki well. The robes she wore\nhad once been the lightest and finest of woolens, rich with embroidery, but now they\n"
## [611] "were mud-caked and bloody and ripped. She clutched the torn cloth of her bodice to her\nheavy breasts. “I have some small skill in the healing arts.”\n\n“Who are you?” Dany asked her.\n\n“I am named Mirri Maz Duur. I am godswife of this temple.”\n\n“Maegi,” grunted Haggo, fingering his arakh. His look was dark. Dany remembered the\nword from a terrifying story that Jhiqui had told her one night by the cookfire. A maegi\nwas a woman who lay with demons and practiced the blackest of sorceries, a vile thing,\nevil and soulless, who came to men in the dark of night and sucked life and strength\nfrom their bodies.\n\n“I am a healer,” Mirri Maz Duur said.\n\n“A healer of sheeps,” sneered Qotho. “Blood of my blood, I say kill this maegi and wait\nfor the hairless men.”\n\nDany ignored the bloodrider’s outburst. This old, homely, thickbodied woman did not\nlook like a maegi to her. “Where did you learn your healing, Mirri Maz Duur?”\n\n“My mother was godswife before me, and taught me all the songs and spells most\npleasing to the Great Shepherd, and how to make the sacred smokes and ointments from\nleaf and root and berry. When I was younger and more fair, I went in caravan to Asshai\nby the Shadow, to learn from their mages. Ships from many lands come to Asshai, so I\nlingered long to study the healing ways of distant peoples. A moonsinger of the Jogos\nNhai gifted me with her birthing songs, a woman of your own riding people taught me\nthe magics of grass and corn and horse, and a maester from the Sunset Lands opened a\nbody for me and showed me all the secrets that hide beneath the skin.”\n\nSer Jorah Mormont spoke up. “A maester?”\n\n“Marwyn, he named himself,” the woman replied in the Common Tongue. “From the\nsea. Beyond the sea. The Seven Lands, he said. Sunset Lands. Where men are iron and\ndragons rule. He taught me this speech.”\n\n“A maester in Asshai,” Ser Jorah mused. “Tell me, Godswife, what did this Marwyn wear\nabout his neck?”\n\n“A chain so tight it was like to choke him, Iron Lord, with links of many metals.”\n"
## [612] "The knight looked at Dany. “Only a man trained in the Citadel of Oldtown wears such a\nchain,” he said, “and such men do know much of healing.”\n\n“Why should you want to help my khal?”\n\n“All men are one flock, or so we are taught,” replied Mirri Maz Duur. “The Great\nShepherd sent me to earth to heal his lambs, wherever I might find them.”\n\nQotho gave her a stinging slap. “We are no sheep, maegi.”\n\n“Stop it,” Dany said angrily. “She is mine. I will not have her harmed.”\n\nKhal Drogo grunted. “The arrow must come out, Qotho.”\n\n“Yes, Great Rider,” Mirri Maz Duur answered, touching her bruised face. “And your\nbreast must be washed and sewn, lest the wound fester.”\n\n“Do it, then,” Khal Drogo commanded.\n\n“Great Rider,” the woman said, “my tools and potions are inside the god’s house, where\nthe healing powers are strongest.”\n\n“I will carry you, blood of my blood,” Haggo offered.\n\nKhal Drogo waved him away. “I need no man’s help,” he said, in a voice proud and hard.\nHe stood, unaided, towering over them all. A fresh wave of blood ran down his breast,\nfrom where Ogo’s arakh had cut off his nipple. Dany moved quickly to his side. “I am no\nman,” she whispered, “so you may lean on me.” Drogo put a huge hand on her shoulder.\nShe took some of his weight as they walked toward the great mud temple. The three\nbloodriders followed. Dany commanded Ser Jorah and the warriors of her khas to guard\nthe entrance and make certain no one set the building afire while they were still inside.\n\nThey passed through a series of anterooms, into the high central chamber under the\nonion. Faint light shone down through hidden windows above. A few torches burnt\nsmokily from sconces on the walls. Sheepskins were scattered across the mud floor.\n“There,” Mirri Maz Duur said, pointing to the altar, a massive blue-veined stone carved\nwith images of shepherds and their flocks. Khal Drogo lay upon it. The old woman threw\na handful of dried leaves onto a brazier, filling the chamber with fragrant smoke. “Best if\nyou wait outside,” she told the rest of them.\n\n“We are blood of his blood,” Cohollo said. “Here we wait.”\n"
## [613] "Qotho stepped close to Mirri Maz Duur. “Know this, wife of the Lamb God. Harm the\nkhal and you suffer the same.” He drew his skinning knife and showed her the blade.\n\n“She will do no harm.” Dany felt she could trust this old, plainfaced woman with her flat\nnose; she had saved her from the hard hands of her rapers, after all.\n\n“If you must stay, then help,” Mirri told the bloodriders. “The Great Rider is too strong\nfor me. Hold him still while I draw the arrow from his flesh.” She let the rags of her gown\nfall to her waist as she opened a carved chest, and busied herself with bottles and boxes,\nknives and needles. When she was ready, she broke off the barbed arrowhead and pulled\nout the shaft, chanting in the singsong tongue of the Lhazareen. She heated a flagon of\nwine to boiling on the brazier, and poured it over his wounds. Khal Drogo cursed her,\nbut he did not move. She bound the arrow wound with a plaster of wet leaves and turned\nto the gash on his breast, smearing it with a pale green paste before she pulled the flap of\nskin back in place. The khal ground his teeth together and swallowed a scream. The\ngodswife took out a silver needle and a bobbin of silk thread and began to close the flesh.\nWhen she was done she painted the skin with red ointment, covered it with more leaves,\nand bound the breast in a ragged piece of lambskin. “You must say the prayers I give you\nand keep the lambskin in place for ten days and ten nights,” she said. “There will be\nfever, and itching, and a great scar when the healing is done.”\n\nKhal Drogo sat, bells ringing. “I sing of my scars, sheep woman.” He flexed his arm and\nscowled.\n\n“Drink neither wine nor the milk of the poppy,” she cautioned him. “Pain you will have,\nbut you must keep your body strong to fight the poison spirits.”\n\n“I am khal,” Drogo said. “I spit on pain and drink what I like. Cohollo, bring my vest.”\nThe older man hastened off.\n\n“Before,” Dany said to the ugly Lhazareen woman, “I heard you speak of birthing\nsongs . . . ”\n\n“I know every secret of the bloody bed, Silver Lady, nor have I ever lost a babe,” Mirri\nMaz Duur replied.\n\n“My time is near,” Dany said. “I would have you attend me when he comes, if you would.”\n\nKhal Drogo laughed. “Moon of my life, you do not ask a slave, you tell her. She will do as\nyou command.” He jumped down from the altar. “Come, my blood. The stallions call,\nthis place is ashes. It is time to ride.”\n"
## [614] "Haggo followed the khal from the temple, but Qotho lingered long enough to favor Mirri\nMaz Duur with a stare. “Remember, maegi, as the khal fares, so shall you.”\n\n“As you say, rider,” the woman answered him, gathering up her jars and bottles. “The\nGreat Shepherd guards the flock.”\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [615] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n TYRION\nOn a hill overlooking the kingsroad, a long trestle table of rough-hewn pine had been\nerected beneath an elm tree and covered with a golden cloth. There, beside his pavilion,\nLord Tywin took his evening meal with his chief knights and lords bannermen, his great\ncrimson-and-gold standard waving overhead from a lofty pike.\n\nTyrion arrived late, saddlesore, and sour, all too vividly aware of how amusing he must\nlook as he waddled up the slope to his father. The day’s march had been long and tiring.\nHe thought he might get quite drunk tonight. It was twilight, and the air was alive with\ndrifting fireflies.\n\nThe cooks were serving the meat course: five suckling pigs, skin seared and crackling, a\ndifferent fruit in every mouth. The smell made his mouth water. “My pardons,” he\nbegan, taking his place on the bench beside his uncle.\n\n“Perhaps I’d best charge you with burying our dead, Tyrion,” Lord Tywin said. “If you\nare as late to battle as you are to table, the fighting will all be done by the time you\narrive.”\n\n“Oh, surely you can save me a peasant or two, Father,” Tyrion replied. “Not too many, I\nwouldn’t want to be greedy.” He filled his wine cup and watched a serving man carve\ninto the pig. The crisp skin crackled under his knife, and hot juice ran from the meat. It\nwas the loveliest sight Tyrion had seen in ages.\n\n“Ser Addam’s outriders say the Stark host has moved south from the Twins,” his father\nreported as his trencher was filled with slices of pork. “Lord Frey’s levies have joined\nthem. They are likely no more than a day’s march north of us.”\n\n“Please, Father,” Tyrion said. “I’m about to eat.”\n\n“Does the thought of facing the Stark boy unman you, Tyrion? Your brother Jaime would\nbe eager to come to grips with him.”\n\n“I’d sooner come to grips with that pig. Robb Stark is not half so tender, and he never\nsmelled as good.”\n"
## [616] "Lord Lefford, the sour bird who had charge of their stores and supplies, leaned forward.\n“I hope your savages do not share your reluctance, else we’ve wasted our good steel on\nthem.”\n\n“My savages will put your steel to excellent use, my lord,” Tyrion replied. When he had\ntold Lefford he needed arms and armor to equip the three hundred men Ulf had fetched\ndown out of the foothills, you would have thought he’d asked the man to turn his virgin\ndaughters over to their pleasure.\n\nLord Lefford frowned. “I saw that great hairy one today, the one who insisted that he\nmust have two battle-axes, the heavy black steel ones with twin crescent blades.”\n\n“Shagga likes to kill with either hand,” Tyrion said as a trencher of steaming pork was\nlaid in front of him.\n\n“He still had that wood-axe of his strapped to his back.”\n\n“Shagga is of the opinion that three axes are even better than two.” Tyrion reached a\nthumb and forefinger into the salt dish, and sprinkled a healthy pinch over his meat.\n\nSer Kevan leaned forward. “We had a thought to put you and your wildlings in the\nvanguard when we come to battle.”\n\nSer Kevan seldom “had a thought” that Lord Tywin had not had first. Tyrion had\nskewered a chunk of meat on the point of his dagger and brought it to his mouth. Now\nhe lowered it. “The vanguard?” he repeated dubiously. Either his lord father had a new\nrespect for Tyrion’s abilities, or he’d decided to rid himself of his embarrassing get for\ngood. Tyrion had the gloomy feeling he knew which.\n\n“They seem ferocious enough,” Ser Kevan said.\n\n“Ferocious?” Tyrion realized he was echoing his uncle like a trained bird. His father\nwatched, judging him, weighing every word. “Let me tell you how ferocious they are.\nLast night, a Moon Brother stabbed a Stone Crow over a sausage. So today as we made\ncamp three Stone Crows seized the man and opened his throat for him. Perhaps they\nwere hoping to get the sausage back, I couldn’t say. Bronn managed to keep Shagga from\nchopping off the dead man’s cock, which was fortunate, but even so Ulf is demanding\nblood money, which Conn and Shagga refuse to pay.”\n\n“When soldiers lack discipline, the fault lies with their lord commander,” his father said.\n\nHis brother Jaime had always been able to make men follow him eagerly, and die for\n"
## [617] "him if need be. Tyrion lacked that gift. He bought loyalty with gold, and compelled\nobedience with his name. “A bigger man would be able to put the fear in them, is that\nwhat you’re saying, my lord?”\n\nLord Tywin Lannister turned to his brother. “If my son’s men will not obey his\ncommands, perhaps the vanguard is not the place for him. No doubt he would be more\ncomfortable in the rear, guarding our baggage train.”\n\n“Do me no kindnesses, Father,” he said angrily. “If you have no other command to offer\nme, I’ll lead your van.”\n\nLord Tywin studied his dwarf son. “I said nothing about command. You will serve under\nSer Gregor.”\n\nTyrion took one bite of pork, chewed a moment, and spit it out angrily. “I find I am not\nhungry after all,” he said, climbing awkwardly off the bench. “Pray excuse me, my lords.”\n\nLord Tywin inclined his head, dismissing him. Tyrion turned and walked away. He was\nconscious of their eyes on his back as he waddled down the hill. A great gust of laughter\nwent up from behind him, but he did not look back. He hoped they all choked on their\nsuckling pigs.\n\nDusk had settled, turning all the banners black. The Lannister camp sprawled for miles\nbetween the river and the kingsroad. In amongst the men and the horses and the trees, it\nwas easy to get lost, and Tyrion did. He passed a dozen great pavilions and a hundred\ncookfires. Fireflies drifted amongst the tents like wandering stars. He caught the scent of\ngarlic sausage, spiced and savory, so tempting it made his empty stomach growl. Away in\nthe distance, he heard voices raised in some bawdy song. A giggling woman raced past\nhim, naked beneath a dark cloak, her drunken pursuer stumbling over tree roots.\nFarther on, two spearmen faced each other across a little trickle of a stream, practicing\ntheir thrust-and-parry in the fading light, their chests bare and slick with sweat.\n\nNo one looked at him. No one spoke to him. No one paid him any mind. He was\nsurrounded by men sworn to House Lannister, a vast host twenty thousand strong, and\nyet he was alone.\n\nWhen he heard the deep rumble of Shagga’s laughter booming through the dark, he\nfollowed it to the Stone Crows in their small corner of the night. Conn son of Coratt\nwaved a tankard of ale. “Tyrion Halfman! Come, sit by our fire, share meat with the\nStone Crows. We have an ox.”\n\n“I can see that, Conn son of Coratt.” The huge red carcass was suspended over a roaring\n"
## [618] "fire, skewered on a spit the size of a small tree. No doubt it was a small tree. Blood and\ngrease dripped down into the flames as two Stone Crows turned the meat. “I thank you.\nSend for me when the ox is cooked.” From the look of it, that might even be before the\nbattle. He walked on.\n\nEach clan had its own cookfire; Black Ears did not eat with Stone Crows, Stone Crows\ndid not eat with Moon Brothers, and no one ate with Burned Men. The modest tent he\nhad coaxed out of Lord Lefford’s stores had been erected in the center of the four fires.\nTyrion found Bronn sharing a skin of wine with the new servants. Lord Tywin had sent\nhim a groom and a body servant to see to his needs, and even insisted he take a squire.\nThey were seated around the embers of a small cookfire. A girl was with them; slim,\ndark-haired, no more than eighteen by the look of her. Tyrion studied her face for a\nmoment, before he spied fishbones in the ashes. “What did you eat?”\n\n“Trout, m’lord,” said his groom. “Bronn caught them.”\n\nTrout, he thought. Suckling pig. Damn my father. He stared mournfully at the bones,\nhis belly rumbling.\n\nHis squire, a boy with the unfortunate name of Podrick Payne, swallowed whatever he\nhad been about to say. The lad was a distant cousin to Ser Ilyn Payne, the king’s\nheadsman . . . and almost as quiet, although not for want of a tongue. Tyrion had made\nhim stick it out once, just to be certain. “Definitely a tongue,” he had said. “Someday you\nmust learn to use it.”\n\nAt the moment, he did not have the patience to try and coax a thought out of the lad,\nwhom he suspected had been inflicted on him as a cruel jape. Tyrion turned his\nattention back to the girl. “Is this her?” he asked Bronn.\n\nShe rose gracefully and looked down at him from the lofty height of five feet or more. “It\nis, m’lord, and she can speak for herself, if it please you.”\n\nHe cocked his head to one side. “I am Tyrion, of House Lannister. Men call me the Imp.”\n\n“My mother named me Shae. Men call me . . . often.”\n\nBronn laughed, and Tyrion had to smile. “Into the tent, Shae, if you would be so kind.”\nHe lifted the flap and held it for her. Inside, he knelt to light a candle.\n\nThe life of a soldier was not without certain compensations. Wherever you have a camp,\nyou are certain to have camp followers. At the end of the day’s march, Tyrion had sent\nBronn back to find him a likely whore. “I would prefer one who is reasonably young,\n"
## [619] "with as pretty a face as you can find,” he had said. “If she has washed sometime this year,\nI shall be glad. If she hasn’t, wash her. Be certain that you tell her who I am, and warn\nher of what I am.” Jyck had not always troubled to do that. There was a look the girls got\nin their eyes sometimes when they first beheld the lordling they’d been hired to\npleasure . . . a took that Tyrion Lannister did not ever care to see again.\n\nHe lifted the candle and looked her over. Bronn had done well enough; she was doe-eyed\nand slim, with small firm breasts and a smile that was by turns shy, insolent, and\nwicked. He liked that. “Shall I take my gown off, m’lord?” she asked.\n\n“In good time. Are you a maiden, Shae?”\n\n“If it please you, m’lord,” she said demurely.\n\n“What would please me would be the truth of you, girl.”\n\n“Aye, but that will cost you double.”\n\nTyrion decided they would get along splendidly. “I am a Lannister. Gold I have in plenty,\nand you’ll find me generous . . . but I’ll want more from you than what you’ve got\nbetween your legs, though I’ll want that too. You’ll share my tent, pour my wine, laugh at\nmy jests, rub the ache from my legs after each day’s ride . . . and whether I keep you a\nday or a year, for so long as we are together you will take no other men into your bed.”\n\n“Fair enough.” She reached down to the hem of her thin roughspun gown and pulled it\nup over her head in one smooth motion, tossing it aside. There was nothing underneath\nbut Shae. “If he don’t put down that candle, m’lord will burn his fingers.”\n\nTyrion put down the candle, took her hand in his, and pulled her gently to him. She bent\nto kiss him. Her mouth tasted of honey and cloves, and her fingers were deft and\npracticed as they found the fastenings of his clothes.\n\nWhen he entered her, she welcomed him with whispered endearments and small,\nshuddering gasps of pleasure. Tyrion suspected her delight was feigned, but she did it so\nwell that it did not matter. That much truth he did not crave.\n\nHe had needed her, Tyrion realized afterward, as she lay quietly in his arms. Her or\nsomeone like her. It had been nigh on a year since he’d lain with a woman, since before\nhe had set out for Winterfell in company with his brother and King Robert. He could\nwell die on the morrow or the day after, and if he did, he would sooner go to his grave\nthinking of Shae than of his lord father, Lysa Arryn, or the Lady Catelyn Stark.\n"
## [620] "He could feel the softness of her breasts pressed against his arm as she lay beside him.\nThat was a good feeling. A song filled his head. Softly, quietly, he began to whistle.\n\n“What’s that, m’lord?” Shae murmured against him.\n\n“Nothing,” he told her. “A song I learned as a boy, that’s all. Go to sleep, sweetling.”\n\nWhen her eyes were closed and her breathing deep and steady, Tyrion slid out from\nbeneath her, gently, so as not to disturb her sleep. Naked, he crawled outside, stepped\nover his squire, and walked around behind his tent to make water.\n\nBronn was seated cross-legged under a chestnut tree, near where they’d tied the horses.\nHe was honing the edge of his sword, wide awake; the sellsword did not seem to sleep\nlike other men. “Where did you find her?” Tyrion asked him as he pissed.\n\n“I took her from a knight. The man was loath to give her up, but your name changed his\nthinking somewhat . . . that, and my dirk at his throat.”\n\n“Splendid,” Tyrion said dryly, shaking off the last drops. “I seem to recall saying find me\na whore, not make me an enemy.”\n\n“The pretty ones were all claimed,” Bronn said. “I’ll be pleased to take her back if you’d\nprefer a toothless drab.”\n\nTyrion limped closer to where he sat. “My lord father would call that insolence, and send\nyou to the mines for impertinence.”\n\n“Good for me you’re not your father,” Bronn replied. “I saw one with boils all over her\nnose. Would you like her?”\n\n“What, and break your heart?” Tyrion shot back. “I shall keep Shae. Did you perchance\nnote the name of this knight you took her from? I’d rather not have him beside me in the\nbattle.”\n\nBronn rose, cat-quick and cat-graceful, turning his sword in his hand. “You’ll have me\nbeside you in the battle, dwarf.”\n\nTyrion nodded. The night air was warm on his bare skin. “See that I survive this battle,\nand you can name your reward.”\n\nBronn tossed the longsword from his right hand to his left, and tried a cut. “Who’d want\n"
## [621] "to kill the likes of you?”\n\n“My lord father, for one. He’s put me in the van.”\n\n“I’d do the same. A small man with a big shield. You’ll give the archers fits.”\n\n“I find you oddly cheering,” Tyrion said. “I must be mad.”\n\nBronn sheathed his sword. “Beyond a doubt.”\n\nWhen Tyrion returned to his tent, Shae rolled onto her elbow and murmured sleepily, “I\nwoke and m’lord was gone.”\n\n“M’lord is back now.” He slid in beside her.\n\nHer hand went between his stunted legs, and found him hard. “Yes he is,” she\nwhispered, stroking him.\n\nHe asked her about the man Bronn had taken her from, and she named the minor\nretainer of an insignificant lordling. “You need not fear his like, m’lord,” the girl said, her\nfingers busy at his cock. “He is a small man.”\n\n“And what am I, pray?” Tyrion asked her. “A giant?”\n\n“Oh, yes,” she purred, “my giant of Lannister.” She mounted him then, and for a time,\nshe almost made him believe it. Tyrion went to sleep smiling . . .\n\n . . . and woke in darkness to the blare of trumpets. Shae was shaking him by the\nshoulder. “M’lord,” she whispered. “Wake up, m’lord. I’m frightened.”\n\nGroggy, he sat up and threw back the blanket. The horns called through the night, wild\nand urgent, a cry that said hurry hurry hurry. He heard shouts, the clatter of spears, the\nwhicker of horses, though nothing yet that spoke to him of fighting. “My lord father’s\ntrumpets,” he said. “Battle assembly. I thought Stark was yet a day’s march away.”\n\nShae shook her head, lost. Her eyes were wide and white.\n\nGroaning, Tyrion lurched to his feet and pushed his way outside, shouting for his squire.\nWisps of pale fog drifted through the night, long white fingers off the river. Men and\nhorses blundered through the predawn chill; saddles were being cinched, wagons\nloaded, fires extinguished. The trumpets blew again: hurry hurry hurry. Knights\n"
## [622] "vaulted onto snorting coursers while men-at-arms buckled their sword belts as they ran.\nWhen he found Pod, the boy was snoring softly. Tyrion gave him a sharp poke in the ribs\nwith his toe. “My armor,” he said, “and be quick about it.” Bronn came trotting out of the\nmists, already armored and ahorse, wearing his battered halfhelm. “Do you know what’s\nhappened?” Tyrion asked him.\n\n“The Stark boy stole a march on us,” Bronn said. “He crept down the kingsroad in the\nnight, and now his host is less than a mile north of here, forming up in battle array.”\n\nHurry, the trumpets called, hurry hurry hurry.\n\n“See that the clansmen are ready to ride.” Tyrion ducked back inside his tent. “Where are\nmy clothes?” he barked at Shae. “There. No, the leather, damn it. Yes. Bring me my\nboots.”\n\nBy the time he was dressed, his squire had laid out his armor, such that it was. Tyrion\nowned a fine suit of heavy plate, expertly crafted to fit his misshapen body. Alas, it was\nsafe at Casterly Rock, and he was not. He had to make do with oddments assembled\nfrom Lord Lefford’s wagons: mail hauberk and coif, a dead knight’s gorget, lobstered\ngreaves and gauntlets and pointed steel boots. Some of it was ornate, some plain; not a\nbit of it matched, or fit as it should. His breastplate was meant for a bigger man; for his\noversize head, they found a huge bucket-shaped greathelm topped with a foot-long\ntriangular spike.\n\nShae helped Pod with the buckles and clasps. “If I die, weep for me,” Tyrion told the\nwhore.\n\n“How will you know? You’ll be dead.”\n\n“I’ll know.”\n\n“I believe you would.” Shae lowered the greathelm down over his head, and Pod fastened\nit to his gorget. Tyrion buckled on his belt, heavy with the weight of shortsword and dirk.\nBy then his groom had brought up his mount, a formidable brown courser armored as\nheavily as he was. He needed help to mount; he felt as though he weighed a thousand\nstone. Pod handed him up his shield, a massive slab of heavy ironwood banded with\nsteel. Lastly they gave him his battle-axe. Shae stepped back and looked him over.\n“M’lord looks fearsome.”\n\n“M’lord looks a dwarf in mismatched armor,” Tyrion answered sourly, “but I thank you\nfor the kindness. Podrick, should the battle go against us, see the lady safely home.” He\nsaluted her with his axe, wheeled his horse about, and trotted off. His stomach was a\n"
## [623] "hard knot, so tight it pained him. Behind, his servants hurriedly began to strike his tent.\nPale crimson fingers fanned out to the east as the first rays of the sun broke over the\nhorizon. The western sky was a deep purple, speckled with stars. Tyrion wondered\nwhether this was the last sunrise he would ever see . . . and whether wondering was a\nmark of cowardice. Did his brother Jaime ever contemplate death before a battle?\n\nA warhorn sounded in the far distance, a deep mournful note that chilled the soul. The\nclansmen climbed onto their scrawny mountain horses, shouting curses and rude jokes.\nSeveral appeared to be drunk. The rising sun was burning off the drifting tendrils of fog\nas Tyrion led them off. What grass the horses had left was heavy with dew, as if some\npassing god had scattered a bag of diamonds over the earth. The mountain men fell in\nbehind him, each clan arrayed behind its own leaders.\n\nIn the dawn light, the army of Lord Tywin Lannister unfolded like an iron rose, thorns\ngleaming.\n\nHis uncle would lead the center. Ser Kevan had raised his standards above the\nkingsroad. Quivers hanging from their belts, the foot archers arrayed themselves into\nthree long lines, to east and west of the road, and stood calmly stringing their bows.\nBetween them, pikemen formed squares; behind were rank on rank of men-at-arms with\nspear and sword and axe. Three hundred heavy horse surrounded Ser Kevan and the\nlords bannermen Lefford, Lydden, and Serrett with all their sworn retainers.\n\nThe right wing was all cavalry, some four thousand men, heavy with the weight of their\narmor. More than three quarters of the knights were there, massed together like a great\nsteel fist. Ser Addam Marbrand had the command. Tyrion saw his banner unfurl as his\nstandardbearer shook it out; a burning tree, orange and smoke. Behind him flew Ser\nFlement’s purple unicorn, the brindled boar of Crakehall, the bantam rooster of Swyft,\nand more.\n\nHis lord father took his place on the hill where he had slept. Around him, the reserve\nassembled; a huge force, half mounted and half foot, five thousand strong. Lord Tywin\nalmost always chose to command the reserve; he would take the high ground and watch\nthe battle unfold below him, committing his forces when and where they were needed\nmost.\n\nEven from afar, his lord father was resplendent. Tywin Lannister’s battle armor put his\nson Jaime’s gilded suit to shame. His greatcloak was sewn from countless layers of cloth-\nof-gold, so heavy that it barely stirred even when he charged, so large that its drape\ncovered most of his stallion’s hindquarters when he took the saddle. No ordinary clasp\nwould suffice for such a weight, so the greatcloak was held in place by a matched pair of\nminiature lionesses crouching on his shoulders, as if poised to spring. Their mate, a male\n"
## [624] "with a magnificent mane, reclined atop Lord Tywin’s greathelm, one paw raking the air\nas he roared. All three lions were wrought in gold, with ruby eyes. His armor was heavy\nsteel plate, enameled in a dark crimson, greaves and gauntlets inlaid with ornate gold\nscrollwork. His rondels were golden sunbursts, all his fastenings were gilded, and the\nred steel was burnished to such a high sheen that it shone like fire in the light of the\nrising sun.\n\nTyrion could hear the rumble of the foemen’s drums now. He remembered Robb Stark\nas he had last seen him, in his father’s high seat in the Great Hall of Winterfell, a sword\nnaked and shining in his hands. He remembered how the direwolves had come at him\nout of the shadows, and suddenly he could see them again, snarling and snapping, teeth\nbared in his face. Would the boy bring his wolves to war with him? The thought made\nhim uneasy.\n\nThe northerners would be exhausted after their long sleepless march. Tyrion wondered\nwhat the boy had been thinking. Did he think to take them unawares while they slept?\nSmall chance of that; whatever else might be said of him, Tywin Lannister was no man’s\nfool.\n\nThe van was massing on the left. He saw the standard first, three black dogs on a yellow\nfield. Ser Gregor sat beneath it, mounted on the biggest horse Tyrion had ever seen.\nBronn took one look at him and grinned. “Always follow a big man into battle.”\n\nTyrion threw him a hard look. “And why is that?”\n\n“They make such splendid targets. That one, he’ll draw the eyes of every bowman on the\nfield.”\n\nLaughing, Tyrion regarded the Mountain with fresh eyes. “I confess, I had not\nconsidered it in that light.”\n\nClegane had no splendor about him; his armor was steel plate, dull grey, scarred by hard\nuse and showing neither sigil nor ornament. He was pointing men into position with his\nblade, a two-handed greatsword that Ser Gregor waved about with one hand as a lesser\nman might wave a dagger. “Any man runs, I’ll cut him down myself,” he was roaring\nwhen he caught sight of Tyrion. “Imp! Take the left. Hold the river. If you can.”\n\nThe left of the left. To turn their flank, the Starks would need horses that could run on\nwater. Tyrion led his men toward the riverbank. “Look,” he shouted, pointing with his\naxe. “The river.” A blanket of pale mist still clung to the surface of the water, the murky\ngreen current swirling past underneath. The shallows were muddy and choked with\nreeds. “That river is ours. Whatever happens, keep close to the water. Never lose sight of\n"
## [625] "it. Let no enemy come between us and our river. If they dirty our waters, hack off their\ncocks and feed them to the fishes.”\n\nShagga had an axe in either hand. He smashed them together and made them ring.\n“Halfman!” he shouted. Other Stone Crows picked up the cry, and the Black Ears and\nMoon Brothers as well. The Burned Men did not shout, but they rattled their swords and\nspears. “Halfman! Halfman! Halfman!”\n\nTyrion turned his courser in a circle to look over the field. The ground was rolling and\nuneven here; soft and muddy near the river, rising in a gentle slope toward the\nkingsroad, stony and broken beyond it, to the cast. A few trees spotted the hillsides, but\nmost of the land had been cleared and planted. His heart pounded in his chest in time to\nthe drums, and under his layers of leather and steel his brow was cold with sweat. He\nwatched Ser Gregor as the Mountain rode up and down the line, shouting and\ngesticulating. This wing too was all cavalry, but where the right was a mailed fist of\nknights and heavy lancers, the vanguard was made up of the sweepings of the west:\nmounted archers in leather jerkins, a swarming mass of undisciplined freeriders and\nsellswords, fieldhands on plow horses armed with scythes and their fathers’ rusted\nswords, half-trained boys from the stews of Lannisport . . . and Tyrion and his mountain\nclansmen.\n\n“Crow food,” Bronn muttered beside him, giving voice to what Tyrion had left unsaid. He\ncould only nod. Had his lord father taken leave of his senses? No pikes, too few bowmen,\na bare handful of knights, the ill-armed and unarmored, commanded by an unthinking\nbrute who led with his rage . . . how could his father expect this travesty of a battle to\nhold his left?\n\nHe had no time to think about it. The drums were so near that the beat crept under his\nskin and set his hands to twitching. Bronn drew his longsword, and suddenly the enemy\nwas there before them, boiling over the tops of the hills, advancing with measured tread\nbehind a wall of shields and pikes.\n\nGods be damned, look at them all, Tyrion thought, though he knew his father had more\nmen on the field. Their captains led them on armored warhorses, standard-bearers\nriding alongside with their banners. He glimpsed the bull moose of the Hornwoods, the\nKarstark sunburst, Lord Cerwyn’s battle-axe, and the mailed fist of the Glovers . . . and\nthe twin towers of Frey, blue on grey. So much for his father’s certainty that Lord Walder\nwould not bestir himself. The white of House Stark was seen everywhere, the grey\ndirewolves seeming to run and leap as the banners swirled and streamed from the high\nstaffs. Where is the boy? Tyrion wondered.\n\nA warhorn blew. Haroooooooooooooooooooooooo, it cried, its voice as long and low and\n"
## [626] "chilling as a cold wind from the north. The Lannister trumpets answered, da-DA da-DA\nda-DAAAAAAAAA, brazen and defiant, yet it seemed to Tyrion that they sounded\nsomehow smaller, more anxious. He could feel a fluttering in his bowels, a queasy liquid\nfeeling; he hoped he was not going to die sick.\n\nAs the horns died away, a hissing filled the air; a vast flight of arrows arched up from his\nright, where the archers stood flanking the road. The northerners broke into a run,\nshouting as they came, but the Lannister arrows fell on them like hail, hundreds of\narrows, thousands, and shouts turned to screams as men stumbled and went down. By\nthen a second flight was in the air, and the archers were fitting a third arrow to their\nbowstrings.\n\nThe trumpets blared again, da-DAAA da-DAAA da-DA da-DA da-DAAAAAAA. Ser\nGregor waved his huge sword and bellowed a command, and a thousand other voices\nscreamed back at him. Tyrion put his spurs to his horse and added one more voice to the\ncacophony, and the van surged forward. “The river!” he shouted at his clansmen as they\nrode. “Remember, hew to the river.” He was still leading when they broke a canter, until\nChella gave a bloodcurdling shriek and galloped past him, and Shagga howled and\nfollowed. The clansmen charged after them, leaving Tyrion in their dust.\n\nA crescent of enemy spearmen had formed ahead, a double hedgehog bristling with\nsteel, waiting behind tall oaken shields marked with the sunburst of Karstark. Gregor\nClegane was the first to reach them, leading a wedge of armored veterans. Half the\nhorses shied at the last second, breaking their charge before the row of spears. The\nothers died, sharp steel points ripping through their chests. Tyrion saw a dozen men go\ndown. The Mountain’s stallion reared, lashing out with iron-shod hooves as a barbed\nspearhead raked across his neck. Maddened, the beast lunged into the ranks. Spears\nthrust at him from every side, but the shield wall broke beneath his weight. The\nnortherners stumbled away from the animal’s death throes. As his horse fell, snorting\nblood and biting with his last red breath, the Mountain rose untouched, laying about\nhim with his two-handed greatsword.\n\nShagga went bursting through the gap before the shields could close, other Stone Crows\nhard behind him. Tyrion shouted, “Burned Men! Moon Brothers! After me!” but most of\nthem were ahead of him. He glimpsed Timett son of Timett vault free as his mount died\nunder him in full stride, saw a Moon Brother impaled on a Karstark spear, watched\nConn’s horse shatter a man’s ribs with a kick. A flight of arrows descended on them;\nwhere they came from he could not say, but they fell on Stark and Lannister alike,\nrattling off armor or finding flesh. Tyrion lifted his shield and hid beneath it.\n\nThe hedgehog was crumbling, the northerners reeling back under the impact of the\nmounted assault. Tyrion saw Shagga catch a spearman full in the chest as the fool came\n"
## [627] "on at a run, saw his axe shear through mail and leather and muscle and lungs. The man\nwas dead on his feet, the axehead lodged in his breast, yet Shagga rode on, cleaving a\nshield in two with his left-hand battle-axe while the corpse was bouncing and stumbling\nbonelessly along on his right. Finally the dead man slid off. Shagga smashed the two\naxes together and roared.\n\nBy then the enemy was on him, and Tyrion’s battle shrunk to the few feet of ground\naround his horse. A man-at-arms thrust at his chest and his axe lashed out, knocking the\nspear aside. The man danced back for another try, but Tyrion spurred his horse and rode\nright over him. Bronn was surrounded by three foes, but he lopped the head off the first\nspear that came at him, and raked his blade across a second man’s face on his backslash.\n\nA thrown spear came hurtling at Tyrion from the left and lodged in his shield with a\nwoody chunk. He wheeled and raced after the thrower, but the man raised his own\nshield over his head. Tyrion circled around him, raining axe blows down on the wood.\nChips of oak went flying, until the northerner lost his feet and slipped, failing flat on his\nback with his shield on top of him. He was below the reach of Tyrion’s axe and it was too\nmuch bother to dismount, so he left him there and rode after another man, taking him\nfrom behind with a sweeping downcut that sent a jolt of impact up his arm. That won\nhim a moment’s respite. Reining up, he looked for the river. There it was, off to the right.\nSomehow he had gotten turned around.\n\nA Burned Man rode past, slumped against his horse. A spear had entered his belly and\ncome out through his back. He was past any help, but when Tyrion saw one of the\nnortherners run up and make a grab for his reins, he charged.\n\nHis quarry met him sword in hand. He was tall and spare, wearing a long chainmail\nhauberk and gauntlets of lobstered steel, but he’d lost his helm and blood ran down into\nhis eyes from a gash across his forehead. Tyrion aimed a swipe at his face, but the tall\nman slammed it aside. “Dwarf,” he screamed. “Die.” He turned in a circle as Tyrion rode\naround him, hacking at his head and shoulders. Steel rang on steel, and Tyrion soon\nrealized that the tall man was quicker and stronger than he was. Where in the seven hells\nwas Bronn? “Die,” the man grunted, chopping at him savagely. Tyrion barely got his\nshield up in time, and the wood seemed to explode inward under the force of the blow.\nThe shattered pieces fell away from his arm. “Die!” the swordsman bellowed, shoving in\nclose and whanging Tyrion across the temple so hard his head rang. The blade made a\nhideous scraping sound as he drew it back over the steel. The tall man grinned . . . until\nTyrion’s destrier bit, quick as a snake, laying his cheek bare to the bone. Then he\nscreamed. Tyrion buried his axe in his head. “You die,” he told him, and he did.\n\nAs he wrenched the blade free, he heard a shout. ‘Eddard!” a voice rang out. “For\nEddard and Winterfell!” The knight came thundering down on him, swinging the spiked\n"
## [628] "ball of a morningstar around his head. Their warhorses slammed together before Tyrion\ncould so much as open his mouth to shout for Bronn. His right elbow exploded with pain\nas the spikes punched through the thin metal around the joint. His axe was gone, as fast\nas that. He clawed for his sword, but the morningstar was circling again, coming at his\nface. A sickening crunch, and he was falling. He did not recall hitting the ground, but\nwhen he looked up there was only sky above him. He rolled onto his side and tried to\nfind his feet, but pain shuddered through him and the world throbbed. The knight who\nhad felled him drew up above him. “Tyrion the Imp,” he boomed down. “You are mine.\nDo you yield, Lannister?”\n\nYes, Tyrion thought, but the word caught in his throat. He made a croaking sound and\nfought his way to his knees, fumbling for a weapon. His sword, his dirk, anything . . .\n\n“Do you yield?” The knight loomed overhead on his armored warhorse. Man and horse\nboth seemed immense. The spiked ball swung in a lazy circle. Tyrion’s hands were\nnumb, his vision blurred, his scabbard empty. “Yield or die,” the knight declared, his flail\nwhirling faster and faster.\n\nTyrion lurched to his feet, driving his head into the horse’s belly. The animal gave a\nhideous scream and reared. It tried to twist away from the agony, a shower of blood and\nviscera poured down over Tyrion’s face, and the horse fell like an avalanche. The next he\nknew, his visor was packed with mud and something was crushing his foot. He wriggled\nfree, his throat so tight he could scarce talk. “ . . . yield . . . ” he managed to croak faintly.\n\n“Yes,” a voice moaned, thick with pain.\n\nTyrion scraped the mud off his helm so he could see again. The horse had fallen away\nfrom him, onto its rider. The knight’s leg was trapped, the arm he’d used to break his fall\ntwisted at a grotesque angle. “Yield,” he repeated. Fumbling at his belt with his good\nhand, he drew a sword and flung it at Tyrion’s feet. “I yield, my lord.”\n\nDazed, the dwarf knelt and lifted the blade. Pain hammered through his elbow when he\nmoved his arm. The battle seemed to have moved beyond him. No one remained on his\npart of the field save a large number of corpses. Ravens were already circling and\nlanding to feed. He saw that Ser Kevan had brought up his center in support of the van;\nhis huge mass of pikemen had pushed the northerners back against the hills. They were\nstruggling on the slopes, pikes thrusting against another wall of shields, these oval and\nreinforced with iron studs. As he watched, the air filled with arrows again, and the men\nbehind the oak wall crumbled beneath the murderous fire. “I believe you are losing, ser,”\nhe told the knight under the horse. The man made no reply.\n\nThe sound of hooves coming up behind him made him whirl, though he could scarcely\n"
## [629] "lift the sword he held for the agony in his elbow. Brorm reined up and looked down on\nhim.\n\n“Small use you turned out to be,” Tyrion told him.\n\n“It would seem you did well enough on your own,” Bronn answered. “You’ve lost the\nspike off your helm, though.”\n\nTyrion groped at the top of the greathelm. The spike had snapped off clean. “I haven’t\nlost it. I know just where it is. Do you see my horse?”\n\nBy the time they found it, the trumpets had sounded again and Lord Tywin’s reserve\ncame sweeping up along the river. Tyrion watched his father fly past, the crimson-and-\ngold banner of Lannister rippling over his head as he thundered across the field. Five\nhundred knights surrounded him, sunlight flashing off the points of their lances. The\nremnants of the Stark lines shattered like glass beneath the hammer of their charge.\n\nWith his elbow swollen and throbbing inside his armor, Tyrion made no attempt to join\nthe slaughter. He and Bronn went looking for his men. Many he found among the dead.\nUlf son of Umar lay in a pool of congealing blood, his arm gone at the elbow, a dozen of\nhis Moon Brothers sprawled around him. Shagga was slumped beneath a tree, riddled\nwith arrows, Conn’s head in his lap. Tyrion thought they were both dead, but as he\ndismounted, Shagga opened his eyes and said, “They have killed Conn son of Coratt.”\nHandsome Conn had no mark but for the red stain over his breast, where the spear\nthrust had killed him. When Bronn pulled Shagga to his feet, the big man seemed to\nnotice the arrows for the first time. He plucked them out one by one, cursing the holes\nthey had made in his layers of mail and leather, and yowling like a babe at the few that\nhad buried themselves in his flesh. Chella daughter of Cheyk rode up as they were\nyanking arrows out of Shagga, and showed them four ears she had taken. Timett they\ndiscovered looting the bodies of the slain with his Burned Men. Of the three hundred\nclansmen who had ridden to battle behind Tyrion Lannister, perhaps half had survived.\n\nHe left the living to look after the dead, sent Bronn to take charge of his captive knight,\nand went alone in search of his father. Lord Tywin was seated by the river, sipping wine\nfrom a jeweled cup as his squire undid the fastenings on his breastplate. “A fine victory,”\nSer Kevan said when he saw Tyrion. “Your wild men fought well.”\n\nHis father’s eyes were on him, pale green flecked with gold, so cool they gave Tyrion a\nchill. “Did that surprise you, Father?” he asked. “Did it upset your plans? We were\nsupposed to be butchered, were we not?”\n\nLord Tywin drained his cup, his face expressionless. “I put the least disciplined men on\n"
## [630] "the left, yes. I anticipated that they would break. Robb Stark is a green boy, more like to\nbe brave than wise. I’d hoped that if he saw our left collapse, he might plunge into the\ngap, eager for a rout. Once he was fully committed, Ser Kevan’s pikes would wheel and\ntake him in the flank, driving him into the river while I brought up the reserve.”\n\n“And you thought it best to place me in the midst of this carnage, yet keep me ignorant\nof your plans.”\n\n“A feigned rout is less convincing,” his father said, “and I am not inclined to trust my\nplans to a man who consorts with sellswords and savages.”\n\n“A pity my savages ruined your dance.” Tyrion pulled off his steel gauntlet and let it fall\nto the ground, wincing at the pain that stabbed up his arm.\n\n“The Stark boy proved more cautious than I expected for one of his years,” Lord Tywin\nadmitted, “but a victory is a victory. You appear to be wounded.”\n\nTyrion’s right arm was soaked with blood. “Good of you to notice, Father,” he said\nthrough clenched teeth. “Might I trouble you to send for your maesters? Unless you\nrelish the notion of having a one-armed dwarf for a son . . . ”\n\nAn urgent shout of “Lord Tywin!” turned his father’s head before he could reply. Tywin\nLannister rose to his feet as Ser Addam Marbrand leapt down off his courser. The horse\nwas lathered and bleeding from the mouth. Ser Addam dropped to one knee, a rangy\nman with dark copper hair that fell to his shoulders, armored in burnished bronzed steel\nwith the fiery tree of his House etched black on his breastplate. “My liege, we have taken\nsome of their commanders. Lord Cerwyn, Ser Wylis Manderly, Harrion Karstark, four\nFreys. Lord Hornwood is dead, and I fear Roose Bolton has escaped us.”\n\n“And the boy?” Lord Tywin asked.\n\nSer Addam hesitated. “The Stark boy was not with them, my lord. They say he crossed at\nthe Twins with the great part of his horse, riding hard for Riverrun.”\n\nA green boy, Tyrion remembered, more like to be brave than wise. He would have\nlaughed, if he hadn’t hurt so much.\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [631] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n CATELYN\nThe woods were full of whispers.\n\nMoonlight winked on the tumbling waters of the stream below as it wound its rocky way\nalong the floor of the valley. Beneath the trees, warhorses whickered softly and pawed at\nthe moist, leafy ground, while men made nervous jests in hushed voices. Now and again,\nshe heard the chink of spears, the faint metallic slither of chain mail, but even those\nsounds were muffled.\n\n“It should not be long now, my lady,” Hallis Mollen said. He had asked for the honor of\nprotecting her in the battle to come; it was his right, as Winterfell’s captain of guards,\nand Robb had not refused it to him. She had thirty men around her, charged to keep her\nunharmed and see her safely home to Winterfell if the fighting went against them. Robb\nhad wanted fifty; Catelyn had insisted that ten would be enough, that he would need\nevery sword for the fight. They made their peace at thirty, neither happy with it.\n\n“It will come when it comes,” Catelyn told him. When it came, she knew it would mean\ndeath. Hal’s death perhaps . . . or hers, or Robb’s. No one was safe. No life was certain.\nCatelyn was content to wait, to listen to the whispers in the woods and the faint music of\nthe brook, to feel the warm wind in her hair.\n\nShe was no stranger to waiting, after all. Her men had always made her wait. “Watch for\nme, little cat,” her father would always tell her, when he rode off to court or fair or battle.\nAnd she would, standing patiently on the battlements of Riverrun as the waters of the\nRed Fork and the Tumblestone flowed by. He did not always come when he said he\nwould, and days would ofttimes pass as Catelyn stood her vigil, peering out between\ncrenels and through arrow loops until she caught a glimpse of Lord Hoster on his old\nbrown gelding, trotting along the rivershore toward the landing. “Did you watch for\nme?” he’d ask when he bent to bug her. “Did you, little cat?”\n\nBrandon Stark had bid her wait as well. “I shall not be long, my lady,” he had vowed.\n“We will be wed on my return.” Yet when the day came at last, it was his brother Eddard\nwho stood beside her in the sept.\n\nNed had lingered scarcely a fortnight with his new bride before he too had ridden off to\nwar with promises on his lips. At least he had left her with more than words; he had\n"
## [632] "given her a son. Nine moons had waxed and waned, and Robb had been born in\nRiverrun while his father still warred in the south. She had brought him forth in blood\nand pain, not knowing whether Ned would ever see him. Her son. He had been so\nsmall . . .\n\nAnd now it was for Robb that she waited . . . for Robb, and for Jaime Lannister, the\ngilded knight who men said had never learned to wait at all. “The Kingslayer is restless,\nand quick to anger,” her uncle Brynden had told Robb. And he had wagered their lives\nand their best hope of victory on the truth of what he said.\n\nIf Robb was frightened, he gave no sign of it. Catelyn watched her son as he moved\namong the men, touching one on the shoulder, sharing a jest with another, helping a\nthird to gentle an anxious horse. His armor clinked softly when he moved. Only his head\nwas bare. Catelyn watched a breeze stir his auburn hair, so like her own, and wondered\nwhen her son had grown so big. Fifteen, and near as tall as she was.\n\nLet him grow taller, she asked the gods. Let him know sixteen, and twenty, and fifty.\nLet him grow as tall as his father, and hold his own son in his arms. Please, please,\nplease. As she watched him, this tall young man with the new beard and the direwolf\nprowling at his heels, all she could see was the babe they had laid at her breast at\nRiverrun, so long ago.\n\nThe night was warm, but the thought of Riverrun was enough to make her shiver. Where\nare they? she wondered. Could her uncle have been wrong? So much rested on the truth\nof what he had told them. Robb had given the Blackfish three hundred picked men, and\nsent them ahead to screen his march. “Jaime does not know,” Ser Brynden said when he\nrode back. “I’ll stake my life on that. No bird has reached him, my archers have seen to\nthat. We’ve seen a few of his outriders, but those that saw us did not live to tell of it. He\nought to have sent out more. He does not know.”\n\n“How large is his host?” her son asked.\n\n“Twelve thousand foot, scattered around the castle in three separate camps, with the\nrivers between,” her uncle said, with the craggy smile she remembered so well. “There is\nno other way to besiege Riverrun, yet still, that will be their undoing. Two or three\nthousand horse.”\n\n“The Kingslayer has us three to one,” said Galbart Glover.\n\n‘True enough,” Ser Brynden said, “yet there is one thing Ser Jaime lacks.”\n\n“Yes?” Robb asked.\n"
## [633] "“Patience.”\n\nTheir host was greater than it had been when they left the Twins. Lord Jason Mallister\nhad brought his power out from Seagard to join them as they swept around the\nheadwaters of the Blue Fork and galloped south, and others had crept forth as well,\nhedge knights and small lords and masterless men-at-arms who had fled north when her\nbrother Edmure’s army was shattered beneath the walls of Riverrun. They had driven\ntheir horses as hard as they dared to reach this place before Jaime Lannister had word of\ntheir coming, and now the hour was at hand.\n\nCatelyn watched her son mount up. Olyvar Frey held his horse for him, Lord Walder’s\nson, two years older than Robb, and ten years younger and more anxious. He strapped\nRobb’s shield in place and handed up his helm. When he lowered it over the face she\nloved so well, a tall young knight sat on his grey stallion where her son had been. It was\ndark among the trees, where the moon did not reach. When Robb turned his head to\nlook at her, she could see only black inside his visor. “I must ride down the line,\nMother,” he told her. “Father says you should let the men see you before a battle.”\n\n‘Go, then,” she said. “Let them see you.”\n\n‘It will give them courage,” Robb said.\n\nAnd who will give me courage? she wondered, yet she kept her silence and made herself\nsmile for him. Robb turned the big grey stallion and walked him slowly away from her,\nGrey Wind shadowing his steps. Behind him his battle guard formed up. When he’d\nforced Catelyn to accept her protectors, she had insisted that he be guarded as well, and\nthe lords bannermen had agreed. Many of their sons had clamored for the honor of\nriding with the Young Wolf, as they had taken to calling him. Torrhen Karstark and his\nbrother Eddard were among his thirty, and Patrek Mallister, Smalljon Umber, Daryn\nHornwood, Theon Greyjoy, no less than five of Walder Frey’s vast brood, along with\nolder men like Ser Wendel Manderly and Robin Flint. One of his companions was even a\nwoman: Dacey Mormont, Lady Maege’s eldest daughter and heir to Bear Island, a lanky\nsix-footer who had been given a morningstar at an age when most girls were given dolls.\nSome of the other lords muttered about that, but Catelyn would not listen to their\ncomplaints. “This is not about the honor of your houses,” she told them. “This is about\nkeeping my son alive and whole.”\n\nAnd if it comes to that, she wondered, will thirty be enough? Will six thousand be\nenough?\n\nA bird called faintly in the distance, a high sharp trill that felt like an icy hand on\n"
## [634] "Catelyn’s neck. Another bird answered; a third, a fourth. She knew their call well\nenough, from her years at Winterfell. Snow shrikes. Sometimes you saw them in the\ndeep of winter, when the godswood was white and still. They were northern birds.\n\nThey are coming, Catelyn thought.\n\n“They’re coming, my lady,” Hal Mollen whispered. He was always a man for stating the\nobvious. “Gods be with us.”\n\nShe nodded as the woods grew still around them. In the quiet she could hear them, far\noff yet moving closer; the tread of many horses, the rattle of swords and spears and\narmor, the murmur of human voices, with here a laugh, and there a curse.\n\nEons seemed to come and go. The sounds grew louder. She heard more laughter, a\nshouted command, splashing as they crossed and recrossed the little stream. A horse\nsnorted. A man swore. And then at last she saw him . . . only for an instant, framed\nbetween the branches of the trees as she looked down at the valley floor, yet she knew it\nwas him. Even at a distance, Ser Jaime Lannister was unmistakable. The moonlight had\nsilvered his armor and the gold of his hair, and turned his crimson cloak to black. He\nwas not wearing a helm.\n\nHe was there and he was gone again, his silvery armor obscured by the trees once more.\nOthers came behind him, long columns of them, knights and sworn swords and\nfreeriders, three quarters of the Lannister horse.\n\n“He is no man for sitting in a tent while his carpenters build siege towers,” Ser Brynden\nhad promised. “He has ridden out with his knights thrice already, to chase down raiders\nor storm a stubborn holdfast.”\n\nNodding, Robb had studied the map her uncle had drawn him. Ned had taught him to\nread maps. “Raid him here,” he said, pointing. “A few hundred men, no more. Tully\nbanners. When he comes after you, we will be waiting”—his finger moved an inch to the\nleft—“here.”\n\nHere was a hush in the night, moonlight and shadows, a thick carpet of dead leaves\nunderfoot, densely wooded ridges sloping gently down to the streambed, the underbrush\nthinning as the ground fell away.\n\nHere was her son on his stallion, glancing back at her one last time and lifting his sword\nin salute.\n\nHere was the call of Maege Mormont’s warhorn, a long low blast that rolled down the\n"
## [635] "valley from the east, to tell them that the last of Jaime’s riders had entered the trap.\n\nAnd Grey Wind threw back his head and howled.\n\nThe sound seemed to go right through Catelyn Stark, and she found herself shivering. It\nwas a terrible sound, a frightening sound, yet there was music in it too. For a second she\nfelt something like pity for the Lannisters below. So this is what death sounds like, she\nthought.\n\nHAAroooooooooooooooooooooooo came the answer from the far ridge as the Greatjon\nwinded his own horn. To east and west, the trumpets of the Mallisters and Freys blew\nvengeance. North, where the valley narrowed and bent like a cocked elbow, Lord\nKarstark’s warhorns added their own deep, mournful voices to the dark chorus. Men\nwere shouting and horses rearing in the stream below.\n\nThe whispering wood let out its breath all at once, as the bowmen Robb had hidden in\nthe branches of the trees let fly their arrows and the night erupted with the screams of\nmen and horses. All around her, the riders raised their lances, and the dirt and leaves\nthat had buried the cruel bright points fell away to reveal the gleam of sharpened steel.\n“Winterfell!” she heard Robb shout as the arrows sighed again. He moved away from her\nat a trot, leading his men downhill.\n\nCatelyn sat on her horse, unmoving, with Hal Mollen and her guard around her, and she\nwaited as she had waited before, for Brandon and Ned and her father. She was high on\nthe ridge, and the trees hid most of what was going on beneath her. A heartbeat, two,\nfour, and suddenly it was as if she and her protectors were alone in the wood. The rest\nwere melted away into the green.\n\nYet when she looked across the valley to the far ridge, she saw the Greatjon’s riders\nemerge from the darkness beneath the trees. They were in a long line, an endless line,\nand as they burst from the wood there was an instant, the smallest part of a heartbeat,\nwhen all Catelyn saw was the moonlight on the points of their lances, as if a thousand\nwillowisps were coming down the ridge, wreathed in silver flame.\n\nThen she blinked, and they were only men, rushing down to kill or die.\n\nAfterward, she could not claim she had seen the battle. Yet she could hear, and the valley\nrang with echoes. The crack of a broken lance, the clash of swords, the cries of\n“Lannister” and “Winterfell” and “Tully! Riverrun and Tully!” When she realized there\nwas no more to see, she closed her eyes and listened. The battle came alive around her.\nShe heard hoofbeats, iron boots splashing in shallow water, the woody sound of swords\non oaken shields and the scrape of steel against steel, the hiss of arrows, the thunder of\n"
## [636] "drums, the terrified screaming of a thousand horses. Men shouted curses and begged for\nmercy, and got it (or not), and lived (or died). The ridges seemed to play queer tricks\nwith sound. Once she heard Robb’s voice, as clear as if he’d been standing at her side,\ncalling, “To me! To me!” And she heard his direwolf, snarling and growling, heard the\nsnap of those long teeth, the tearing of flesh, shrieks of fear and pain from man and\nhorse alike. Was there only one wolf? It was hard to be certain.\n\nLittle by little, the sounds dwindled and died, until at last there was only the wolf. As a\nred dawn broke in the east, Grey Wind began to howl again.\n\nRobb came back to her on a different horse, riding a piebald gelding in the place of the\ngrey stallion he had taken down into the valley. The wolf’s head on his shield was slashed\nhalf to pieces, raw wood showing where deep gouges had been hacked in the oak, but\nRobb himself seemed unhurt. Yet when he came closer, Catelyn saw that his mailed\nglove and the sleeve of his surcoat were black with blood. “You’re hurt,” she said.\n\nRobb lifted his hand, opened and closed his fingers. “No,” he said. “This is . . . Torrhen’s\nblood, perhaps, or . . . ” He shook his head. “I do not know.”\n\nA mob of men followed him up the slope, dirty and dented and grinning, with Theon and\nthe Greatjon at their head. Between them they dragged Ser Jaime Lannister. They threw\nhim down in front of her horse. “The Kingslayer,” Hal announced, unnecessarily.\n\nLannister raised his head. “Lady Stark,” he said from his knees. Blood ran down one\ncheek from a gash across his scalp, but the pale light of dawn had put the glint of gold\nback in his hair. “I would offer you my sword, but I seem to have mislaid it.”\n\n“It is not your sword I want, ser,” she told him. “Give me my father and my brother\nEdmure. Give me my daughters. Give me my lord husband.”\n\n“I have mislaid them as well, I fear.”\n\n“A pity,” Catelyn said coldly.\n\n“Kill him, Robb,” Theon Greyjoy urged. “Take his head off.”\n\n“No,” her son answered, peeling off his bloody glove. “He’s more use alive than dead.\nAnd my lord father never condoned the murder of prisoners after a battle.”\n\n“A wise man,” Jaime Lannister said, “and honorable.”\n\n“Take him away and put him in irons,” Catelyn said.\n"
## [637] "“Do as my lady mother says,” Robb commanded, “and make certain there’s a strong\nguard around him. Lord Karstark will want his head on a pike.”\n\n“That he will,” the Greatjon agreed, gesturing. Lannister was led away to be bandaged\nand chained.\n\n“Why should Lord Karstark want him dead?” Catelyn asked.\n\nRobb looked away into the woods, with the same brooding look that Ned often got.\n“He . . . he killed them . . . ”\n\n“Lord Karstark’s sons,” Galbart Glover explained.\n\n“Both of them,” said Robb. “Torrhen and Eddard. And Daryn Hornwood as well.”\n\n“No one can fault Lannister on his courage,” Glover said. “When he saw that he was lost,\nhe rallied his retainers and fought his way up the valley, hoping to reach Lord Robb and\ncut him down. And almost did.”\n\n“He mislaid his sword in Eddard Karstark’s neck, after he took Torrhen’s hand off and\nsplit Daryn Hornwood’s skull open,” Robb said. “All the time he was shouting for me. If\nthey hadn’t tried to stop him—”\n\n“—I should then be mourning in place of Lord Karstark,” Catelyn said. “Your men did\nwhat they were sworn to do, Robb. They died protecting their liege lord. Grieve for them.\nHonor them for their valor. But not now. You have no time for grief. You may have\nlopped the head off the snake, but three quarters of the body is still coiled around my\nfather’s castle. We have won a battle, not a war.”\n\n“But such a battle!” said Theon Greyjoy eagerly. “My lady, the realm has not seen such a\nvictory since the Field of Fire. I vow, the Lannisters lost ten men for every one of ours\nthat fell. We’ve taken close to a hundred knights captive, and a dozen lords bannermen.\nLord Westerling, Lord Banefort, Ser Garth Greenfield, Lord Estren, Ser Tytos Brax,\nMallor the Dornishman . . . and three Lannisters besides Jaime, Lord Tywin’s own\nnephews, two of his sister’s sons and one of his dead brother’s . . . ”\n\n“And Lord Tywin?” Catelyn interrupted. “Have you perchance taken Lord Tywin,\nTheon?”\n\n“No,” Greyjoy answered, brought up short.\n"
## [638] "“Until you do, this war is far from done.”\n\nRobb raised his head and pushed his hair back out of his eyes. “My mother is right. We\nstill have Riverrun.”\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [639] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n DAENERYS\nThe flies circled Khal Drogo slowly, their wings buzzing, a low thrum at the edge of\nhearing that filled Dany with dread.\n\nThe sun was high and pitiless. Heat shimmered in waves off the stony outcrops of low\nhills. A thin finger of sweat trickled slowly between Dany’s swollen breasts. The only\nsounds were the steady clop of their horses’ hooves, the rhythmic tingle of the bells in\nDrogo’s hair, and the distant voices behind them.\n\nDany watched the flies.\n\nThey were as large as bees, gross, purplish, glistening. The Dothraki called them\nbloodflies. They lived in marshes and stagnant pools, sucked blood from man and horse\nalike, and laid their eggs in the dead and dying. Drogo hated them. Whenever one came\nnear him, his hand would shoot out quick as a striking snake to close around it. She had\nnever seen him miss. He would hold the fly inside his huge fist long enough to hear its\nfrantic buzzing. Then his fingers would tighten, and when he opened his hand again, the\nfly would be only a red smear on his palm.\n\nNow one crept across the rump of his stallion, and the horse gave an angry flick of its tail\nto brush it away. The others flitted about Drogo, closer and closer. The khal did not\nreact. His eyes were fixed on distant brown hills, the reins loose in his hands. Beneath\nhis painted vest, a plaster of fig leaves and caked blue mud covered the wound on his\nbreast. The herbwomen had made it for him. Mirri Maz Duur’s poultice had itched and\nburned, and he had torn it off six days ago, cursing her for a maegi. The mud plaster was\nmore soothing, and the herbwomen made him poppy wine as well. He’d been drinking it\nheavily these past three days; when it was not poppy wine, it was fermented mare’s milk\nor pepper beer.\n\nYet he scarcely touched his food, and he thrashed and groaned in the night. Dany could\nsee how drawn his face had become. Rhaego was restless in her belly, kicking like a\nstallion, yet even that did not stir Drogo’s interest as it had. Every morning her eyes\nfound fresh lines of pain on his face when he woke from his troubled sleep. And now this\nsilence. It was making her afraid. Since they had mounted up at dawn, he had said not a\nword. When she spoke, she got no answer but a grunt, and not even that much since\nmidday.\n"
## [640] "One of the bloodflies landed on the bare skin of the khal’s shoulder. Another, circling,\ntouched down on his neck and crept up toward his mouth. Khal Drogo swayed in the\nsaddle, bells ringing, as his stallion kept onward at a steady walking pace.\n\nDany pressed her heels into her silver and rode closer. “My lord,” she said softly. “Drogo.\nMy sun-and-stars.”\n\nHe did not seem to hear. The bloodfly crawled up under his drooping mustache and\nsettled on his cheek, in the crease beside his nose. Dany gasped, “Drogo.” Clumsily she\nreached over and touched his arm.\n\nKhal Drogo reeled in the saddle, tilted slowly, and fell heavily from his horse. The flies\nscattered for a heartbeat, and then circled back to settle on him where he lay.\n\n“No,” Dany said, reining up. Heedless of her belly for once, she scrambled off her silver\nand ran to him.\n\nThe grass beneath him was brown and dry. Drogo cried out in pain as Dany knelt beside\nhim. His breath rattled harshly in his throat, and he looked at her without recognition.\n“My horse,” he gasped. Dany brushed the flies off his chest, smashing one as he would\nhave. His skin burned beneath her fingers.\n\nThe khal’s bloodriders had been following just behind them. She heard Haggo shout as\nthey galloped up. Cohollo vaulted from his horse. “Blood of my blood,” he said as he\ndropped to his knees. The other two kept to their mounts.\n\n“No,” Khal Drogo groaned, struggling in Dany’s arms. “Must ride. Ride. No.”\n\n“He fell from his horse,” Haggo said, staring down. His broad face was impassive, but his\nvoice was leaden.\n\n“You must not say that,” Dany told him. “We have ridden far enough today. We will\ncamp here.”\n\n“Here?” Haggo looked around them. The land was brown and sere, inhospitable. “This is\nno camping ground.”\n\n“It is not for a woman to bid us halt,” said Qotho, “not even a khaleesi.”\n\n“We camp here,” Dany repeated. “Haggo, tell them Khal Drogo commanded the halt. If\nany ask why, say to them that my time is near and I could not continue. Cohollo, bring\n"
## [641] "up the slaves, they must put up the khal’s tent at once. Qotho—”\n\n“You do not command me, Khaleesi,” Qotho said.\n\n“Find Mirri Maz Duur,” she told him. The godswife would be walking among the other\nLamb Men, in the long column of slaves. “Bring her to me, with her chest.”\n\nQotho glared down at her, his eyes hard as flint. “The maegi.” He spat. “This I will not\ndo.”\n\n“You will,” Dany said, “or when Drogo wakes, he will hear why you defied me.”\n\nFurious, Qotho wheeled his stallion around and galloped off in anger . . . but Dany knew\nhe would return with Mirri Maz Duur, however little he might like it. The slaves erected\nKhal Drogo’s tent beneath a jagged outcrop of black rock whose shadow gave some relief\nfrom the heat of the afternoon sun. Even so, it was stifling under the sandsilk as Irri and\nDoreah helped Dany walk Drogo inside. Thick patterned carpets had been laid down\nover the ground, and pillows scattered in the corners. Eroeh, the timid girl Dany had\nrescued outside the mud walls of the Lamb Men, set up a brazier. They stretched Drogo\nout on a woven mat. “No,” he muttered in the Common Tongue. “No, no.” It was all he\nsaid, all he seemed capable of saying.\n\nDoreah unhooked his medallion belt and stripped off his vest and leggings, while Jhiqui\nknelt by his feet to undo the laces of his riding sandals. Irri wanted to leave the tent flaps\nopen to let in the breeze, but Dany forbade it. She would not have any see Drogo this\nway, in delirium and weakness. When her khas came up, she posted them outside at\nguard. “Admit no one without my leave,” she told Jhogo. “No one.”\n\nEroeh stared fearfully at Drogo where he lay. “He dies,” she whispered.\n\nDany slapped her. “The khal cannot die. He is the father of the stallion who mounts the\nworld. His hair has never been cut. He still wears the bells his father gave him.”\n\n“Khaleesi, “ Jhiqui said, “he fell from his horse.”\n\nTrembling, her eyes full of sudden tears, Dany turned away from them. He fell from his\nhorse! It was so, she had seen it, and the bloodriders, and no doubt her handmaids and\nthe men of her khas as well. And how many more? They could not keep it secret, and\nDany knew what that meant. A khal who could not ride could not rule, and Drogo had\nfallen from his horse.\n\n“We must bathe him,” she said stubbornly. She must not allow herself to despair. “Irri,\n"
## [642] "have the tub brought at once. Doreah, Eroeh, find water, cool water, he’s so hot.” He was\na fire in human skin.\n\nThe slaves set up the heavy copper tub in the corner of the tent. When Doreah brought\nthe first jar of water, Dany wet a length of silk to lay across Drogo’s brow, over the\nburning skin. His eyes looked at her, but he did not see. When his lips opened, no words\nescaped them, only a moan. “Where is Mirri Maz Duur?” she demanded, her patience\nrubbed raw with fear.\n\n“Qotho will find her,” Irri said.\n\nHer handmaids filled the tub with tepid water that stank of sulfur, sweetening it with\njars of bitter oil and handfuls of crushed mint leaves. While the bath was being prepared,\nDany knelt awkwardly beside her lord husband, her belly great with their child within.\nShe undid his braid with anxious fingers, as she had on the night he’d taken her for the\nfirst time, beneath the stars. His bells she laid aside carefully, one by one. He would\nwant them again when he was well, she told herself.\n\nA breath of air entered the tent as Aggo poked his head through the silk. “Khaleesi, “ he\nsaid, “the Andal is come, and begs leave to enter.”\n\n“The Andal” was what the Dothraki called Ser Jorah. “Yes,” she said, rising clumsily,\n“send him in.” She trusted the knight. He would know what to do if anyone did.\n\nSer Jorah Mormont ducked through the door flap and waited a moment for his eyes to\nadjust to the dimness. In the fierce heat of the south, he wore loose trousers of mottled\nsandsilk and open-toed riding sandals that laced up to his knee. His scabbard hung from\na twisted horsehair belt. Under a bleached white vest, he was bare-chested, skin\nreddened by the sun. “Talk goes from mouth to ear, all over the khalasar,” he said. “It is\nsaid Khal Drogo fell from his horse.”\n\n“Help him,” Dany pleaded. “For the love you say you bear me, help him now.”\n\nThe knight knelt beside her. He looked at Drogo long and hard, and then at Dany. “Send\nyour maids away.”\n\nWordlessly, her throat tight with fear, Dany made a gesture. Irri herded the other girls\nfrom the tent.\n\nWhen they were alone, Ser Jorah drew his dagger. Deftly, with a delicacy surprising in\nsuch a big man, he began to scrape away the black leaves and dried blue mud from\nDrogo’s chest. The plaster had caked hard as the mud walls of the Lamb Men, and like\n"
## [643] "those walls it cracked easily. Ser Jorah broke the dry mud with his knife, pried the\nchunks from the flesh, peeled off the leaves one by one. A foul, sweet smell rose from the\nwound, so thick it almost choked her. The leaves were crusted with blood and pus,\nDrogo’s breast black and glistening with corruption.\n\n“No,” Dany whispered as tears ran down her cheeks. “No, please, gods hear me, no.”\n\nKhal Drogo thrashed, fighting some unseen enemy. Black blood ran slow and thick from\nhis open wound.\n\n“Your khal is good as dead, Princess.”\n\n“No, he can’t die, he mustn’t, it was only a cut.” Dany took his large callused hand in her\nown small ones, and held it tight between them. “I will not let him die . . . ”\n\nSer Jorah gave a bitter laugh. “Khaleesi or queen, that command is beyond your power.\nSave your tears, child. Weep for him tomorrow, or a year from now. We do not have time\nfor grief. We must go, and quickly, before he dies.”\n\nDany was lost. “Go? Where should we go?”\n\n“Asshai, I would say. It lies far to the south, at the end of the known world, yet men say it\nis a great port. We will find a ship to take us back to Pentos. It will be a hard journey,\nmake no mistake. Do you trust your khas? Will they come with us?”\n\n“Khal Drogo commanded them to keep me safe,” Dany replied uncertainly, “but if he\ndies . . . ” She touched the swell of her belly. “I don’t understand. Why should we flee? I\nam khaleesi. I carry Drogo’s heir. He will be khal after Drogo . . . ”\n\nSer Jorah frowned. “Princess, hear me. The Dothraki will not follow a suckling babe.\nDrogo’s strength was what they bowed to, and only that. When he is gone, Jhaqo and\nPono and the other kos will fight for his place, and this khalasar will devour itself. The\nwinner will want no more rivals. The boy will be taken from your breast the moment he\nis born. They will give him to the dogs . . . ”\n\nDany hugged herself. “But why?” she cried plaintively. “Why should they kill a little\nbaby?”\n\n“He is Drogo’s son, and the crones say he will be the stallion who mounts the world. It\nwas prophesied. Better to kill the child than to risk his fury when he grows to manhood.”\n\nThe child kicked inside her, as if he had heard. Dany remembered the story Viserys had\n"
## [644] "told her, of what the Usurper’s dogs had done to Rhaegar’s children. His son had been a\nbabe as well, yet they had ripped him from his mother’s breast and dashed his head\nagainst a wall. That was the way of men. “They must not hurt my son!” she cried. “I will\norder my khas to keep him safe, and Drogo’s bloodriders will—”\n\nSer Jorah held her by the shoulders. “A bloodrider dies with his khal. You know that,\nchild. They will take you to Vaes Dothrak, to the crones, that is the last duty they owe\nhim in life . . . when it is done, they will join Drogo in the night lands.”\n\nDany did not want to go back to Vaes Dothrak and live the rest of her life among those\nterrible old women, yet she knew that the knight spoke the truth. Drogo had been more\nthan her sun-and-stars; he had been the shield that kept her safe. “I will not leave him,”\nshe said stubbornly, miserably. She took his hand again. “I will not.”\n\nA stirring at the tent flap made Dany turn her head. Mirri Maz Duur entered, bowing\nlow. Days on the march, trailing behind the khalasar, had left her limping and haggard,\nwith blistered and bleeding feet and hollows under her eyes. Behind her came Qotho and\nHaggo, carrying the godswife’s chest between them. When the bloodriders caught sight\nof Drogo’s wound, the chest slipped from Haggo’s fingers and crashed to the floor of the\ntent, and Qotho swore an oath so foul it seared the air.\n\nMirri Maz Duur studied Drogo, her face still and dead. “The wound has festered.”\n\n“This is your work, maegi,” Qotho said. Haggo laid his fist across Mirri’s cheek with a\nmeaty smack that drove her to the ground. Then he kicked her where she lay.\n\n“Stop it!” Dany screamed.\n\nQotho pulled Haggo away, saying, “Kicks are too merciful for a maegi. Take her outside.\nWe will stake her to the earth, to be the mount of every passing man. And when they are\ndone with her, the dogs will use her as well. Weasels will tear out her entrails and\ncarrion crows feast upon her eyes. The flies off the river shall lay their eggs in her womb\nand drink pus from the ruins of her breasts . . . ” He dug iron-hard fingers into the soft,\nwobbly flesh under the godswife’s arm and hauled her to her feet.\n\n“No,” Dany said. “I will not have her harmed.”\n\nQotho’s lips skinned back from his crooked brown teeth in a terrible mockery of a smile.\n“No? You say me no? Better you should pray that we do not stake you out beside your\nmaegi. You did this, as much as the other.”\n\nSer Jorah stepped between them, loosening his longsword in its scabbard. “Rein in your\n"
## [645] "tongue, bloodrider. The princess is still your khaleesi. “\n\n“Only while the blood-of-my-blood still lives,” Qotho told the knight. “When he dies, she\nis nothing.”\n\nDany felt a tightness inside her. “Before I was khaleesi, I was the blood of the dragon.\nSer Jorah, summon my khas.”\n\n“No,” said Qotho. “We will go. For now . . . Khaleesi. “ Haggo followed him from the tent,\nscowling.\n\n“That one means you no good, Princess,” Mormont said. “The Dothraki say a man and\nhis bloodriders share one life, and Qotho sees it ending. A dead man is beyond fear.”\n\n“No one has died,” Dany said. “Ser Jorah, I may have need of your blade. Best go don\nyour armor.” She was more frightened than she dared admit, even to herself.\n\nThe knight bowed. “As you say.” He strode from the tent.\n\nDany turned back to Mirri Maz Duur. The woman’s eyes were wary. “So you have saved\nme once more.”\n\n“And now you must save him,” Dany said. “Please . . . ”\n\n“You do not ask a slave,” Mirri replied sharply, “you tell her.” She went to Drogo burning\non his mat, and gazed long at his wound. “Ask or tell, it makes no matter. He is beyond a\nhealer’s skills.” The khal’s eyes were closed. She opened one with her fingers. “He has\nbeen dulling the hurt with milk of the poppy.”\n\n“Yes,” Dany admitted.\n\n“I made him a poultice of firepod and sting-me-not and bound it in a lambskin.”\n\n“It burned, he said. He tore it off. The herbwomen made him a new one, wet and\nsoothing.”\n\n“It burned, yes. There is great healing magic in fire, even your hairless men know that.”\n\n“Make him another poultice,” Dany begged. “This time I will make certain he wears it.”\n\n“The time for that is past, my lady,” Mirri said. “All I can do now is ease the dark road\n"
## [646] "before him, so he might ride painless to the night lands. He will be gone by morning.”\n\nHer words were a knife through Dany’s breast. What had she ever done to make the gods\nso cruel? She had finally found a safe place, had finally tasted love and hope. She was\nfinally going home. And now to lose it all . . . “No,” she pleaded. “Save him, and I will\nfree you, I swear it. You must know a way . . . some magic, some . . . ”\n\nMirri Maz Duur sat back on her heels and studied Daenerys through eyes as black as\nnight. “There is a spell.” Her voice was quiet, scarcely more than a whisper. “But it is\nhard, lady, and dark. Some would say that death is cleaner. I learned the way in Asshai,\nand paid dear for the lesson. My teacher was a bloodmage from the Shadow Lands.”\n\nDany went cold all over. “Then you truly are a maegi . . . ”\n\n“Am I?” Mirri Maz Duur smiled. “Only a maegi can save your rider now, Silver Lady.”\n\n“Is there no other way?”\n\n“No other.”\n\nKhal Drogo gave a shuddering gasp.\n\n“Do it,” Dany blurted. She must not be afraid; she was the blood of the dragon. “Save\nhim.”\n\n“There is a price,” the godswife warned her.\n\n“You’ll have gold, horses, whatever you like.”\n\n“It is not a matter of gold or horses. This is bloodmagic, lady. Only death may pay for\nlife.”\n\n“Death?” Dany wrapped her arms around herself protectively, rocked back and forth on\nher heels. “My death?” She told herself she would die for him, if she must. She was the\nblood of the dragon, she would not be afraid. Her brother Rhaegar had died for the\nwoman he loved.\n\n“No,” Mirri Maz Duur promised. “Not your death, Khaleesi.”\n\nDany trembled with relief. “Do it.”\n"
## [647] "The maegi nodded solemnly. “As you speak, so it shall be done. Call your servants.”\n\nKhal Drogo writhed feebly as Rakharo and Quaro lowered him into the bath. “No,” he\nmuttered, “no. Must ride.” Once in the water, all the strength seemed to leak out of him.\n\n“Bring his horse,” Mirri Maz Duur commanded, and so it was done. Jhogo led the great\nred stallion into the tent. When the animal caught the scent of death, he screamed and\nreared, rolling his eyes. It took three men to subdue him.\n\n“What do you mean to do?” Dany asked her.\n\n“We need the blood,” Mirri answered. “That is the way.”\n\nJhogo edged back, his hand on his arakh. He was a youth of sixteen years, whip-thin,\nfearless, quick to laugh, with the faint shadow of his first mustachio on his upper lip. He\nfell to his knees before her. “Khaleesi, “ he pleaded, “you must not do this thing. Let me\nkill this maegi.”\n\n“Kill her and you kill your khal,” Dany said.\n\n“This is bloodmagic,” he said. “It is forbidden.”\n\n“I am khaleesi, and I say it is not forbidden. In Vaes Dothrak, Khal Drogo slew a stallion\nand I ate his heart, to give our son strength and courage. This is the same. The same.”\n\nThe stallion kicked and reared as Rakharo, Quaro, and Aggo pulled him close to the tub\nwhere the khal floated like one already dead, pus and blood seeping from his wound to\nstain the bathwaters. Mirri Maz Duur chanted words in a tongue that Dany did not\nknow, and a knife appeared in her hand. Dany never saw where it came from. It looked\nold; hammered red bronze, leaf-shaped, its blade covered with ancient glyphs. The\nmaegi drew it across the stallion’s throat, under the noble head, and the horse screamed\nand shuddered as the blood poured out of him in a red rush. He would have collapsed,\nbut the men of her khas held him up. “Strength of the mount, go into the rider,” Mirri\nsang as horse blood swirled into the waters of Drogo’s bath. “Strength of the beast, go\ninto the man.”\n\nJhogo looked terrified as he struggled with the stallion’s weight, afraid to touch the dead\nflesh, yet afraid to let go as well. Only a horse, Dany thought. If she could buy Drogo’s\nlife with the death of a horse, she would pay a thousand times over.\n\nWhen they let the stallion fall, the bath was a dark red, and nothing showed of Drogo but\nhis face. Mirri Maz Duur had no use for the carcass. “Burn it,” Dany told them. It was\n"
## [648] "what they did, she knew. When a man died, his mount was killed and placed beneath\nhim on the funeral pyre, to carry him to the night lands. The men of her khas dragged\nthe carcass from the tent. The blood had gone everywhere. Even the sandsilk walls were\nspotted with red, and the rugs underfoot were black and wet.\n\nBraziers were lit. Mirri Maz Duur tossed a red powder onto the coals. It gave the smoke a\nspicy scent, a pleasant enough smell, yet Eroeh fled sobbing, and Dany was filled with\nfear. But she had gone too far to turn back now. She sent her handmaids away. “Go with\nthem, Silver Lady,” Mirri Maz Duur told her.\n\n“I will stay,” Dany said. “The man took me under the stars and gave life to the child\ninside me. I will not leave him.”\n\n“You must. Once I begin to sing, no one must enter this tent. My song will wake powers\nold and dark. The dead will dance here this night. No living man must look on them.”\n\nDany bowed her head, helpless. “No one will enter.” She bent over the tub, over Drogo in\nhis bath of blood, and kissed him lightly on the brow. “Bring him back to me,” she\nwhispered to Mirri Maz Duur before she fled.\n\nOutside, the sun was low on the horizon, the sky a bruised red. The khalasar had made\ncamp. Tents and sleeping mats were scattered as far as the eye could see. A hot wind\nblew. Jhogo and Aggo were digging a firepit to burn the dead stallion. A crowd had\ngathered to stare at Dany with hard black eyes, their faces like masks of beaten copper.\nShe saw Ser Jorah Mormont, wearing mail and leather now, sweat beading on his broad,\nbalding forehead. He pushed his way through the Dothraki to Dany’s side. When he saw\nthe scarlet footprints her boots had left on the ground, the color seemed to drain from\nhis face. “What have you done, you little fool?” he asked hoarsely.\n\n“I had to save him.”\n\n“We could have fled,” he said. “I would have seen you safe to Asshai, Princess. There was\nno need . . . ”\n\n“Am I truly your princess?” she asked him.\n\n“You know you are, gods save us both.”\n\n“Then help me now.”\n\nSer Jorah grimaced. “Would that I knew how.”\n"
## [649] "Mirri Maz Duur’s voice rose to a high, ululating wail that sent a shiver down Dany’s\nback. Some of the Dothraki began to mutter and back away. The tent was aglow with the\nlight of braziers within. Through the blood-spattered sandsilk, she glimpsed shadows\nmoving.\n\nMirri Maz Duur was dancing, and not alone.\n\nDany saw naked fear on the faces of the Dothraki. “This must not be,” Qotho thundered.\n\nShe had not seen the bloodrider return. Haggo and Cohollo were with him. They had\nbrought the hairless men, the eunuchs who healed with knife and needle and fire.\n\n“This will be,” Dany replied.\n\n“Maegi, “ Haggo growled. And old Cohollo—Cohollo who had bound his life to Drogo’s\non the day of his birth, Cohollo who had always been kind to her—Cohollo spat full in\nher face.\n\n“You will die, maegi,” Qotho promised, “but the other must die first.” He drew his arakh\nand made for the tent.\n\n“No,” she shouted, “you mustn’t.” She caught him by the shoulder, but Qotho shoved her\naside. Dany fell to her knees, crossing her arms over her belly to protect the child within.\n“Stop him,” she commanded her khas, “kill him.”\n\nRakharo and Quaro stood beside the tent flap. Quaro took a step forward, reaching for\nthe handle of his whip, but Qotho spun graceful as a dancer, the curved arakh rising. It\ncaught Quaro low under the arm, the bright sharp steel biting up through leather and\nskin, through muscle and rib bone. Blood fountained as the young rider reeled\nbackward, gasping.\n\nQotho wrenched the blade free. “Horselord,” Ser Jorah Mormont called. “Try me.” His\nlongsword slid from its scabbard.\n\nQotho whirled, cursing. The arakh moved so fast that Quaro’s blood flew from it in a\nfine spray, like rain in a hot wind. The longsword caught it a foot from Ser Jorah’s face,\nand held it quivering for an instant as Qotho howled in fury. The knight was clad in\nchainmail, with gauntlets and greaves of lobstered steel and a heavy gorget around his\nthroat, but he had not thought to don his helm.\n\nQotho danced backward, arakh whirling around his head in a shining blur, flickering out\nlike lightning as the knight came on in a rush. Ser Jorah parried as best he could, but the\n"
## [650] "slashes came so fast that it seemed to Dany that Qotho had four arakhs and as many\narms. She heard the crunch of sword on mail, saw sparks fly as the long curved blade\nglanced off a gauntlet. Suddenly it was Mormont stumbling backward, and Qotho\nleaping to the attack. The left side of the knight’s face ran red with blood, and a cut to the\nhip opened a gash in his mail and left him limping. Qotho screamed taunts at him,\ncalling him a craven, a milk man, a eunuch in an iron suit. “You die now!” he promised,\narakh shivering through the red twilight. Inside Dany’s womb, her son kicked wildly.\nThe curved blade slipped past the straight one and bit deep into the knight’s hip where\nthe mail gaped open.\n\nMormont grunted, stumbled. Dany felt a sharp pain in her belly, a wetness on her\nthighs. Qotho shrieked triumph, but his arakh had found bone, and for half a heartbeat\nit caught.\n\nIt was enough. Ser Jorah brought his longsword down with all the strength left him,\nthrough flesh and muscle and bone, and Qotho’s forearm dangled loose, flopping on a\nthin cord of skin and sinew. The knight’s next cut was at the Dothraki’s ear, so savage\nthat Qotho’s face seemed almost to explode.\n\nThe Dothraki were shouting, Mirri Maz Duur wailing inside the tent like nothing human,\nQuaro pleading for water as he died. Dany cried out for help, but no one heard. Rakharo\nwas fighting Haggo, arakh dancing with arakh until Jhogo’s whip cracked, loud as\nthunder, the lash coiling around Haggo’s throat. A yank, and the bloodrider stumbled\nbackward, losing his feet and his sword. Rakharo sprang forward, howling, swinging his\narakh down with both hands through the top of Haggo’s head. The point caught between\nhis eyes, red and quivering. Someone threw a stone, and when Dany looked, her\nshoulder was torn and bloody. “No,” she wept, “no, please, stop it, it’s too high, the price\nis too high.” More stones came flying. She tried to crawl toward the tent, but Cohollo\ncaught her. Fingers in her hair, he pulled her head back and she felt the cold touch of his\nknife at her throat. “My baby,” she screamed, and perhaps the gods heard, for as quick as\nthat, Cohollo was dead. Aggo’s arrow took him under the arm, to pierce his lungs and\nheart.\n\nWhen at last Daenerys found the strength to raise her head, she saw the crowd\ndispersing, the Dothraki stealing silently back to their tents and sleeping mats. Some\nwere saddling horses and riding off. The sun had set. Fires burned throughout the\nkhalasar, great orange blazes that crackled with fury and spit embers at the sky. She\ntried to rise, and agony seized her and squeezed her like a giant’s fist. The breath went\nout of her; it was all she could do to gasp. The sound of Mirri Maz Duur’s voice was like a\nfuneral dirge. Inside the tent, the shadows whirled.\n\nAn arm went under her waist, and then Ser Jorah was lifting her off her feet. His face\n"
## [651] "was sticky with blood, and Dany saw that half his ear was gone. She convulsed in his\narms as the pain took her again, and heard the knight shouting for her handmaids to\nhelp him. Are they all so afraid? She knew the answer. Another pain grasped her, and\nDany bit back a scream. It felt as if her son had a knife in each hand, as if he were\nhacking at her to cut his way out. “Doreah, curse you,” Ser Jorah roared. “Come here.\nFetch the birthing women.”\n\n“They will not come. They say she is accursed.”\n\n“They’ll come or I’ll have their heads.”\n\nDoreah wept. “They are gone, my lord.”\n\n“The maegi,” someone else said. Was that Aggo? “Take her to the maegi.”\n\nNo, Dany wanted to say, no, not that, you mustn’t, but when she opened her mouth, a\nlong wail of pain escaped, and the sweat broke over her skin. What was wrong with\nthem, couldn’t they see? Inside the tent the shapes were dancing, circling the brazier and\nthe bloody bath, dark against the sandsilk, and some did not look human. She glimpsed\nthe shadow of a great wolf, and another like a man wreathed in flames.\n\n“The Lamb Woman knows the secrets of the birthing bed,” Irri said. “She said so, I heard\nher.”\n\n“Yes,” Doreah agreed, “I heard her too.”\n\nNo, she shouted, or perhaps she only thought it, for no whisper of sound escaped her\nlips. She was being carried. Her eyes opened to gaze up at a flat dead sky, black and\nbleak and starless. Please, no. The sound of Mirri Maz Duur’s voice grew louder, until it\nfilled the world. The shapes! she screamed. The dancers!\n\nSer Jorah carried her inside the tent.\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [652] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n ARYA\nThe scent of hot bread drifting from the shops along the Street of Flour was sweeter than\nany perfume Arya had ever smelled. She took a deep breath and stepped closer to the\npigeon. It was a plump one, speckled brown, busily pecking at a crust that had fallen\nbetween two cobblestones, but when Arya’s shadow touched it, it took to the air.\n\nHer stick sword whistled out and caught it two feet off the ground, and it went down in a\nflurry of brown feathers. She was on it in the blink of an eye, grabbing a wing as the\npigeon flapped and fluttered. It pecked at her hand. She grabbed its neck and twisted\nuntil she felt the bone snap.\n\nCompared with catching cats, pigeons were easy.\n\nA passing septon was looking at her askance. “Here’s the best place to find pigeon,” Arya\ntold him as she brushed herself off and picked up her fallen stick sword. “They come for\nthe crumbs.” He hurried away.\n\nShe tied the pigeon to her belt and started down the street. A man was pushing a load of\ntarts by on a two-wheeled cart; the smells sang of blueberries and lemons and apricots.\nHer stomach made a hollow rumbly noise. “Could I have one?” she heard herself say. “A\nlemon, or . . . or any kind.”\n\nThe pushcart man looked her up and down. Plainly he did not like what he saw. “Three\ncoppers.”\n\nArya tapped her wooden sword against the side of her boot. “I’ll trade you a fat pigeon,”\nshe said.\n\n“The Others take your pigeon,” the pushcart man said.\n\nThe tarts were still warm from the oven. The smells were making her mouth water, but\nshe did not have three coppers . . . or one. She gave the pushcart man a look,\nremembering what Syrio had told her about seeing. He was short, with a little round\nbelly, and when he moved he seemed to favor his left leg a little. She was just thinking\nthat if she snatched a tart and ran he would never be able to catch her when he said,\n“You be keepin’ your filthy hands off. The gold cloaks know how to deal with thieving\n"
## [653] "little gutter rats, that they do.”\n\nArya glanced warily behind her. Two of the City Watch were standing at the mouth of an\nalley. Their cloaks hung almost to the ground, the heavy wool dyed a rich gold; their mail\nand boots and gloves were black. One wore a longsword at his hip, the other an iron\ncudgel. With a last wistful glance at the tarts, Arya edged back from the cart and hurried\noff. The gold cloaks had not been paying her any special attention, but the sight of them\ntied her stomach in knots. Arya had been staying as far from the castle as she could get,\nyet even from a distance she could see the heads rotting atop the high red walls. Flocks\nof crows squabbled noisily over each head, thick as flies. The talk in Flea Bottom was\nthat the gold cloaks had thrown in with the Lannisters, their commander raised to a\nlord, with lands on the Trident and a seat on the king’s council.\n\nShe had also heard other things, scary things, things that made no sense to her. Some\nsaid her father had murdered King Robert and been slain in turn by Lord Renly. Others\ninsisted that Renly had killed the king in a drunken quarrel between brothers. Why else\nshould he have fled in the night like a common thief? One story said the king had been\nkilled by a boar while hunting, another that he’d died eating a boar, stuffing himself so\nfull that he’d ruptured at the table. No, the king had died at table, others said, but only\nbecause Varys the Spider poisoned him. No, it had been the queen who poisoned him.\nNo, he had died of a pox. No, he had choked on a fish bone.\n\nOne thing all the stories agreed on: King Robert was dead. The bells in the seven towers\nof the Great Sept of Baelor had tolled for a day and a night, the thunder of their grief\nrolling across the city in a bronze tide. They only rang the bells like that for the death of\na king, a tanner’s boy told Arya.\n\nAll she wanted was to go home, but leaving King’s Landing was not so easy as she had\nhoped. Talk of war was on every lip, and gold cloaks were as thick on the city walls as\nfleas on . . . well, her, for one. She had been sleeping in Flea Bottom, on rooftops and in\nstables, wherever she could find a place to lie down, and it hadn’t taken her long to learn\nthat the district was well named.\n\nEvery day since her escape from the Red Keep, Arya had visited each of the seven city\ngates in turn. The Dragon Gate, the Lion Gate, and the Old Gate were closed and barred.\nThe Mud Gate and the Gate of the Gods were open, but only to those who wanted to\nenter the city; the guards let no one out. Those who were allowed to leave left by the\nKing’s Gate or the Iron Gate, but Lannister men-at-arms in crimson cloaks and lion-\ncrested helms manned the guard posts there. Spying down from the roof of an inn by the\nKing’s Gate, Arya saw them searching wagons and carriages, forcing riders to open their\nsaddlebags, and questioning everyone who tried to pass on foot.\n"
## [654] "Sometimes she thought about swimming the river, but the Blackwater Rush was wide\nand deep, and everyone agreed that its currents were wicked and treacherous. She had\nno coin to pay a ferryman or take passage on a ship.\n\nHer lord father had taught her never to steal, but it was growing harder to remember\nwhy. If she did not get out soon, she would have to take her chances with the gold cloaks.\nShe hadn’t gone hungry much since she learned to knock down birds with her stick\nsword, but she feared so much pigeon was making her sick. A couple she’d eaten raw,\nbefore she found Flea Bottom.\n\nIn the Bottom there were pot-shops along the alleys where huge tubs of stew had been\nsimmering for years, and you could trade half your bird for a heel of yesterday’s bread\nand a “bowl o’ brown,” and they’d even stick the other half in the fire and crisp it up for\nyou, so long as you plucked the feathers yourself. Arya would have given anything for a\ncup of milk and a lemon cake, but the brown wasn’t so bad. It usually had barley in it,\nand chunks of carrot and onion and turnip, and sometimes even apple, with a film of\ngrease swimming on top. Mostly she tried not to think about the meat. Once she had\ngotten a piece of fish.\n\nThe only thing was, the pot-shops were never empty, and even as she bolted down her\nfood, Arya could feel them watching. Some of them stared at her boots or her cloak, and\nshe knew what they were thinking. With others, she could almost feel their eyes crawling\nunder her leathers; she didn’t know what they were thinking, and that scared her even\nmore. A couple times, she was followed out into the alleys and chased, but so far no one\nhad been able to catch her.\n\nThe silver bracelet she’d hoped to sell had been stolen her first night out of the castle,\nalong with her bundle of good clothes, snatched while she slept in a burnt-out house off\nPig Alley. All they left her was the cloak she had been huddled in, the leathers on her\nback, her wooden practice sword . . . and Needle. She’d been lying on top of Needle, or\nelse it would have been gone too; it was worth more than all the rest together. Since then\nArya had taken to walking around with her cloak draped over her right arm, to conceal\nthe blade at her hip. The wooden sword she carried in her left hand, out where\neverybody could see it, to scare off robbers, but there were men in the pot-shops who\nwouldn’t have been scared off if she’d had a battle-axe. It was enough to make her lose\nher taste for pigeon and stale bread. Often as not, she went to bed hungry rather than\nrisk the stares.\n\nOnce she was outside the city, she would find berries to pick, or orchards she might raid\nfor apples and cherries. Arya remembered seeing some from the kingsroad on the\njourney south. And she could dig for roots in the forest, even run down some rabbits. In\nthe city, the only things to run down were rats and cats and scrawny dogs. The potshops\n"
## [655] "would give you a fistful of coppers for a litter of pups, she’d heard, but she didn’t like to\nthink about that.\n\nDown below the Street of Flour was a maze of twisting alleys and cross streets. Arya\nscrambled through the crowds, trying to put distance between her and the gold cloaks.\nShe had learned to keep to the center of the street. Sometimes she had to dodge wagons\nand horses, but at least you could see them coming. If you walked near the buildings,\npeople grabbed you. In some alleys you couldn’t help but brush against the walls; the\nbuildings leaned in so close they almost met.\n\nA whooping gang of small children went running past, chasing a rolling hoop. Arya\nstared at them with resentment, remembering the times she’d played at hoops with Bran\nand Jon and their baby brother Rickon. She wondered how big Rickon had grown, and\nwhether Bran was sad. She would have given anything if Jon had been here to call her\n“little sister” and muss her hair. Not that it needed mussing. She’d seen her reflection in\npuddles, and she didn’t think hair got any more mussed than hers.\n\nShe had tried talking to the children she saw in the street, hoping to make a friend who\nwould give her a place to sleep, but she must have talked wrong or something. The little\nones only looked at her with quick, wary eyes and ran away if she came too close. Their\nbig brothers and sisters asked questions Arya couldn’t answer, called her names, and\ntried to steal from her. Only yesterday, a scrawny barefoot girl twice her age had\nknocked her down and tried to pull the boots off her feet, but Arya gave her a crack on\nher ear with her stick sword that sent her off sobbing and bleeding.\n\nA gull wheeled overhead as she made her way down the hill toward Flea Bottom. Arya\nglanced at it thoughtfully, but it was well beyond the reach of her stick. It made her think\nof the sea. Maybe that was the way out. Old Nan used to tell stories of boys who stowed\naway on trading galleys and sailed off into all kinds of adventures. Maybe Arya could do\nthat too. She decided to visit the riverfront. It was on the way to the Mud Gate anyway,\nand she hadn’t checked that one today.\n\nThe wharfs were oddly quiet when Arya got there. She spied another pair of gold cloaks,\nwalking side by side through the fish market, but they never so much as looked at her.\nHalf the stalls were empty, and it seemed to her that there were fewer ships at dock than\nshe remembered. Out on the Blackwater, three of the king’s war galleys moved in\nformation, gold-painted hulls splitting the water as their oars rose and fell. Arya watched\nthem for a bit, then began to make her way along the river.\n\nWhen she saw the guardsmen on the third pier, in grey woolen cloaks trimmed with\nwhite satin, her heart almost stopped in her chest. The sight of Winterfell’s colors\nbrought tears to her eyes. Behind them, a sleek three-banked trading galley rocked at her\n"
## [656] "moorings. Arya could not read the name painted on the hull; the words were strange,\nMyrish, Braavosi, perhaps even High Valyrian. She grabbed a passing longshoreman by\nthe sleeve. “Please,” she said, “what ship is this?”\n\n“She’s the Wind Witch, out of Myr,” the man said.\n\n“She’s still here,” Arya blurted. The longshoreman gave her a queer look, shrugged, and\nwalked away. Arya ran toward the pier. The Wind Witch was the ship Father had hired\nto take her home . . . still waiting! She’d imagined it had sailed ages ago.\n\nTwo of the guardsmen were dicing together while the third walked rounds, his hand on\nthe pommel of his sword. Ashamed to let them see her crying like a baby, she stopped to\nrub at her eyes. Her eyes her eyes her eyes, why did . . .\n\nLook with your eyes, she heard Syrio whisper.\n\nArya looked. She knew all of her father’s men. The three in the grey cloaks were\nstrangers. “You,” the one walking rounds called out. “What do you want here, boy?” The\nother two looked up from their dice.\n\nIt was all Arya could do not to bolt and run, but she knew that if she did, they would be\nafter her at once. She made herself walk closer. They were looking for a girl, but he\nthought she was a boy. She’d be a boy, then. “Want to buy a pigeon?” She showed him\nthe dead bird.\n\n“Get out of here,” the guardsman said.\n\nArya did as he told her. She did not have to pretend to be frightened. Behind her, the\nmen went back to their dice.\n\nShe could not have said how she got back to Flea Bottom, but she was breathing hard by\nthe time she reached the narrow crooked unpaved streets between the hills. The Bottom\nhad a stench to it, a stink of pigsties and stables and tanner’s sheds, mixed in with the\nsour smell of winesinks and cheap whorehouses. Arya wound her way through the maze\ndully. It was not until she caught a whiff of bubbling brown coming through a pot-shop\ndoor that she realized her pigeon was gone. It must have slipped from her belt as she\nran, or someone had stolen it and she’d never noticed. For a moment she wanted to cry\nagain. She’d have to walk all the way back to the Street of Flour to find another one that\nplump.\n\nFar across the city, bells began to ring.\n"
## [657] "Arya glanced up, listening, wondering what the ringing meant this time.\n\n“What’s this now?” a fat man called from the pot-shop.\n\n“The bells again, gods ha’mercy,” wailed an old woman.\n\nA red-haired whore in a wisp of painted silk pushed open a second-story window. “Is it\nthe boy king that’s died now?” she shouted down, leaning out over the street. “Ah, that’s\na boy for you, they never last long.” As she laughed, a naked man slid his arms around\nher from behind, biting her neck and rubbing the heavy white breasts that hung loose\nbeneath her shift.\n\n“Stupid slut,” the fat man shouted up. “The king’s not dead, that’s only summoning bells.\nOne tower tolling. When the king dies, they ring every bell in the city.”\n\n“Here, quit your biting, or I’ll ring your bells,” the woman in the window said to the man\nbehind her, pushing him off with an elbow. “So who is it died, if not the king?”\n\n“It’s a summoning,” the fat man repeated.\n\nTwo boys close to Arya’s age scampered past, splashing through a puddle. The old\nwoman cursed them, but they kept right on going. Other people were moving too,\nheading up the hill to see what the noise was about. Arya ran after the slower boy.\n“Where you going?” she shouted when she was right behind him. “What’s happening?”\n\nHe glanced back without slowing. “The gold cloaks is carryin’ him to the sept.”\n\n“Who?” she yelled, running hard.\n\n“The Hand! They’ll be taking his head off, Buu says.”\n\nA passing wagon had left a deep rut in the street. The boy leapt over, but Arya never saw\nit. She tripped and fell, face first, scraping her knee open on a stone and smashing her\nfingers when her hands hit the hard-packed earth. Needle tangled between her legs. She\nsobbed as she struggled to her knees. The thumb of her left hand was covered with\nblood. When she sucked on it, she saw that half the thumbnail was gone, ripped off in\nher fall. Her hands throbbed, and her knee was all bloody too.\n\n“Make way!” someone shouted from the cross street. “Make way for my lords of\nRedwyne!” It was all Arya could do to get out of the road before they ran her down, four\nguardsmen on huge horses, pounding past at a gallop. They wore checked cloaks, blue-\nand-burgundy. Behind them, two young lordlings rode side by side on a pair of chestnut\n"
## [658] "mares alike as peas in a pod. Arya had seen them in the bailey a hundred times; the\nRedwyne twins, Ser Horas and Ser Hobber, homely youths with orange hair and square,\nfreckled faces. Sansa and Jeyne Poole used to call them Ser Horror and Ser Slobber, and\ngiggle whenever they caught sight of them. They did not look funny now.\n\nEveryone was moving in the same direction, all in a hurry to see what the ringing was all\nabout. The bells seemed louder now, clanging, calling. Arya joined the stream of people.\nHer thumb hurt so bad where the nail had broken that it was all she could do not to cry.\nShe bit her lip as she limped along, listening to the excited voices around her.\n\n“—the King’s Hand, Lord Stark. They’re carrying him up to Baelor’s Sept.”\n\n“I heard he was dead.”\n\n“Soon enough, soon enough. Here, I got me a silver stag says they lop his head off.”\n\n“Past time, the traitor.” The man spat.\n\nArya struggled to find a voice. “He never—” she started, but she was only a child and\nthey talked right over her.\n\n“Fool! They ain’t neither going to lop him. Since when do they knick traitors on the steps\nof the Great Sept?”\n\n“Well, they don’t mean to anoint him no knight. I heard it was Stark killed old King\nRobert. Slit his throat in the woods, and when they found him, he stood there cool as you\nplease and said it was some old boar did for His Grace.”\n\n“Ah, that’s not true, it was his own brother did him, that Renly, him with his gold\nantlers.”\n\n“You shut your lying mouth, woman. You don’t know what you’re saying, his lordship’s a\nfine true man.”\n\nBy the time they reached the Street of the Sisters, they were packed in shoulder to\nshoulder. Arya let the human current carry her along, up to the top of Visenya’s Hill. The\nwhite marble plaza was a solid mass of people, all yammering excitedly at each other and\nstraining to get closer to the Great Sept of Baelor. The bells were very loud here.\n\nArya squirmed through the press, ducking between the legs of horses and clutching tight\nto her sword stick. From the middle of the crowd, all she could see were arms and legs\n"
## [659] "and stomachs, and the seven slender towers of the sept looming overhead. She spotted a\nwood wagon and thought to climb up on the back where she might be able to see, but\nothers had the same idea. The teamster cursed at them and drove them off with a crack\nof his whip.\n\nArya grew frantic. Forcing her way to the front of the crowd, she was shoved up against\nthe stone of a plinth. She looked up at Baelor the Blessed, the septon king. Sliding her\nstick sword through her belt, Arya began to climb. Her broken thumbnail left smears of\nblood on the painted marble, but she made it up, and wedged herself in between the\nking’s feet.\n\nThat was when she saw her father.\n\nLord Eddard stood on the High Septon’s pulpit outside the doors of the sept, supported\nbetween two of the gold cloaks. He was dressed in a rich grey velvet doublet with a white\nwolf sewn on the front in beads, and a grey wool cloak trimmed with fur, but he was\nthinner than Arya had ever seen him, his long face drawn with pain. He was not standing\nso much as being held up; the cast over his broken leg was grey and rotten.\n\nThe High Septon himself stood behind him, a squat man, grey with age and ponderously\nfat, wearing long white robes and an immense crown of spun gold and crystal that\nwreathed his head with rainbows whenever he moved.\n\nClustered around the doors of the sept, in front of the raised marble pulpit, were a knot\nof knights and high lords. Joffrey was prominent among them, his raiment all crimson,\nsilk and satin patterned with prancing stags and roaring lions, a gold crown on his head.\nHis queen mother stood beside him in a black mourning gown slashed with crimson, a\nveil of black diamonds in her hair. Arya recognized the Hound, wearing a snowy white\ncloak over his dark grey armor, with four of the Kingsguard around him. She saw Varys\nthe eunuch gliding among the lords in soft slippers and a patterned damask robe, and\nshe thought the short man with the silvery cape and pointed beard might be the one who\nhad once fought a duel for Mother.\n\nAnd there in their midst was Sansa, dressed in sky-blue silk, with her long auburn hair\nwashed and curled and silver bracelets on her wrists. Arya scowled, wondering what her\nsister was doing here, why she looked so happy.\n\nA long line of gold-cloaked spearmen held back the crowd, commanded by a stout man\nin elaborate armor, all black lacquer and gold filigree. His cloak had the metallic\nshimmer of true cloth-of-gold.\n\nWhen the bell ceased to toll, a quiet slowly settled across the great plaza, and her father\n"
## [660] "lifted his head and began to speak, his voice so thin and weak she could scarcely make\nhim out. People behind her began to shout out, “What?” and “Louder!” The man in the\nblack-and-gold armor stepped up behind Father and prodded him sharply. You leave\nhim alone! Arya wanted to shout, but she knew no one would listen. She chewed her lip.\n\nHer father raised his voice and began again. “I am Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and\nHand of the King,” he said more loudly, his voice carrying across the plaza, “and I come\nbefore you to confess my treason in the sight of gods and men.”\n\n“No,” Arya whimpered. Below her, the crowd began to scream and shout. Taunts and\nobscenities filled the air. Sansa had hidden her face in her hands.\n\nHer father raised his voice still higher, straining to be heard. “I betrayed the faith of my\nking and the trust of my friend, Robert,” he shouted. “I swore to defend and protect his\nchildren, yet before his blood was cold, I plotted to depose and murder his son and seize\nthe throne for myself. Let the High Septon and Baelor the Beloved and the Seven bear\nwitness to the truth of what I say: Joffrey Baratheon is the one true heir to the Iron\nThrone, and by the grace of all the gods, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of\nthe Realm.”\n\nA stone came sailing out of the crowd. Arya cried out as she saw her father hit. The gold\ncloaks kept him from falling. Blood ran down his face from a deep gash across his\nforehead. More stones followed. One struck the guard to Father’s left. Another went\nclanging off the breastplate of the knight in the black-and-gold armor. Two of the\nKingsguard stepped in front of Joffrey and the queen, protecting them with their shields.\n\nHer hand slid beneath her cloak and found Needle in its sheath. She tightened her\nfingers around the grip, squeezing as hard as she had ever squeezed anything. Please,\ngods, keep him safe, she prayed. Don’t let them hurt my father.\n\nThe High Septon knelt before Joffrey and his mother. “As we sin, so do we suffer,” he\nintoned, in a deep swelling voice much louder than Father’s. “This man has confessed\nhis crimes in the sight of gods and men, here in this holy place.” Rainbows danced\naround his head as he lifted his hands in entreaty. “The gods are just, yet Blessed Baelor\ntaught us that they are also merciful. What shall be done with this traitor, Your Grace?”\n\nA thousand voices were screaming, but Arya never heard them. Prince Joffrey . . . no,\nKing Joffrey . . . stepped out from behind the shields of his Kingsguard. “My mother bids\nme let Lord Eddard take the black, and Lady Sansa has begged mercy for her father.” He\nlooked straight at Sansa then, and smiled, and for a moment Arya thought that the gods\nhad heard her prayer, until Joffrey turned back to the crowd and said, “But they have the\nsoft hearts of women. So long as I am your king, treason shall never go unpunished. Ser\n"
## [661] "Ilyn, bring me his head!”\n\nThe crowd roared, and Arya felt the statue of Baelor rock as they surged against it. The\nHigh Septon clutched at the king’s cape, and Varys came rushing over waving his arms,\nand even the queen was saying something to him, but Joffrey shook his head. Lords and\nknights moved aside as he stepped through, tall and fleshless, a skeleton in iron mail, the\nKing’s Justice. Dimly, as if from far off, Arya heard her sister scream. Sansa had fallen to\nher knees, sobbing hysterically. Ser Ilyn Payne climbed the steps of the pulpit.\n\nArya wriggled between Baelor’s feet and threw herself into the crowd, drawing Needle.\nShe landed on a man in a butcher’s apron, knocking him to the ground. Immediately\nsomeone slammed into her back and she almost went down herself. Bodies closed in\naround her, stumbling and pushing, trampling on the poor butcher. Arya slashed at\nthem with Needle.\n\nHigh atop the pulpit, Ser Ilyn Payne gestured and the knight in black-and-gold gave a\ncommand. The gold cloaks flung Lord Eddard to the marble, with his head and chest out\nover the edge.\n\n“Here, you!” an angry voice shouted at Arya, but she bowled past, shoving people aside,\nsquirming between them, slamming into anyone in her way. A hand fumbled at her leg\nand she hacked at it, kicked at shins. A woman stumbled and Arya ran up her back,\ncutting to both sides, but it was no good, no good, there were too many people, no\nsooner did she make a hole than it closed again. Someone buffeted her aside. She could\nstill hear Sansa screaming.\n\nSer Ilyn drew a two-handed greatsword from the scabbard on his back. As he lifted the\nblade above his head, sunlight seemed to ripple and dance down the dark metal, glinting\noff an edge sharper than any razor. Ice, she thought, he has Ice! Her tears streamed\ndown her face, blinding her.\n\nAnd then a hand shot out of the press and closed round her arm like a wolf trap, so hard\nthat Needle went flying from her hand. Arya was wrenched off her feet. She would have\nfallen if he hadn’t held her up, as easy as if she were a doll. A face pressed close to hers,\nlong black hair and tangled beard and rotten teeth. “Don’t look!” a thick voice snarled at\nher.\n\n“I . . . I . . . I . . . ” Arya sobbed.\n\nThe old man shook her so hard her teeth rattled. “Shut your mouth and close your eyes,\nboy.” Dimly, as if from far away, she heard a . . . a noise . . . a soft sighing sound, as if a\nmillion people had let out their breath at once. The old man’s fingers dug into her arm,\n"
## [662] "stiff as iron. “Look at me. Yes, that’s the way of it, at me.” Sour wine perfumed his\nbreath. “Remember, boy?”\n\nIt was the smell that did it. Arya saw the matted greasy hair, the patched, dusty black\ncloak that covered his twisted shoulders, the hard black eyes squinting at her. And she\nremembered the black brother who had come to visit her father.\n\n“Know me now, do you? There’s a bright boy.” He spat. “They’re done here. You’ll be\ncoming with me, and you’ll be keeping your mouth shut.” When she started to reply, he\nshook her again, even harder. “Shut, I said.”\n\nThe plaza was beginning to empty. The press dissolved around them as people drifted\nback to their lives. But Arya’s life was gone. Numb, she trailed along beside . . . Yoren,\nyes, his name is Yoren. She did not recall him finding Needle, until he handed the sword\nback to her. “Hope you can use that, boy.”\n\n“I’m not—” she started.\n\nHe shoved her into a doorway, thrust dirty fingers through her hair, and gave it a twist,\nyanking her head back. “—not a smart boy, that what you mean to say?”\n\nHe had a knife in his other hand.\n\nAs the blade flashed toward her face, Arya threw herself backward, kicking wildly,\nwrenching her head from side to side, but he had her by the hair, so strong, she could\nfeel her scalp tearing, and on her lips the salt taste of tears.\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [663] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n BRAN\nThe oldest were men grown, seventeen and eighteen years from the day of their naming.\nOne was past twenty. Most were younger, sixteen or less.\n\nBran watched them from the balcony of Maester Luwin’s turret, listening to them grunt\nand strain and curse as they swung their staves and wooden swords. The yard was alive\nto the clack of wood on wood, punctuated all too often by thwacks and yowls of pain\nwhen a blow struck leather or flesh. Ser Rodrik strode among the boys, face reddening\nbeneath his white whiskers, muttering at them one and all. Bran had never seen the old\nknight look so fierce. “No,” he kept saying. “No. No. No.”\n\n“They don’t fight very well,” Bran said dubiously. He scratched Summer idly behind the\nears as the direwolf tore at a haunch of meat. Bones crunched between his teeth.\n\n“For a certainty,” Maester Luwin agreed with a deep sigh. The maester was peering\nthrough his big Myrish lens tube, measuring shadows and noting the position of the\ncomet that hung low in the morning sky. “Yet given time . . . Ser Rodrik has the truth of\nit, we need men to walk the walls. Your lord father took the cream of his guard to King’s\nLanding, and your brother took the rest, along with all the likely lads for leagues around.\nMany will not come back to us, and we must needs find the men to take their places.”\n\nBran stared resentfully at the sweating boys below. “If I still had my legs, I could beat\nthem all.” He remembered the last time he’d held a sword in his hand, when the king\nhad come to Winterfell. It was only a wooden sword, yet he’d knocked Prince Tommen\ndown half a hundred times. “Ser Rodrik should teach me to use a poleaxe. If I had a\npoleaxe with a big long haft, Hodor could be my legs. We could be a knight together.”\n\n“I think that . . . unlikely,” Maester Luwin said. “Bran, when a man fights, his arms and\nlegs and thoughts must be as one.”\n\nBelow in the yard, Ser Rodrik was yelling. “You fight like a goose. He pecks you and you\npeck him harder. Parry! Block the blow. Goose fighting will not suffice. If those were\nreal swords, the first peck would take your arm off!” One of the other boys laughed, and\nthe old knight rounded on him. “You laugh. You. Now that is gall. You fight like a\nhedgehog . . . ”\n"
## [664] "“There was a knight once who couldn’t see,” Bran said stubbornly, as Ser Rodrik went on\nbelow. “Old Nan told me about him. He had a long staff with blades at both ends and he\ncould spin it in his hands and chop two men at once.”\n\n“Symeon Star-Eyes,” Luwin said as he marked numbers in a book. “When he lost his\neyes, he put star sapphires in the empty sockets, or so the singers claim. Bran, that is\nonly a story, like the tales of Florian the Fool. A fable from the Age of Heroes.” The\nmaester tsked. “You must put these dreams aside, they will only break your heart.”\n\nThe mention of dreams reminded him. “I dreamed about the crow again last night. The\none with three eyes. He flew into my bedchamber and told me to come with him, so I\ndid. We went down to the crypts. Father was there, and we talked. He was sad.”\n\n“And why was that?” Luwin peered through his tube.\n\n“It was something to do about Jon, I think.” The dream had been deeply disturbing,\nmore so than any of the other crow dreams. “Hodor won’t go down into the crypts.”\n\nThe maester had only been half listening, Bran could tell. He lifted his eye from the tube,\nblinking. “Hodor won’t . . . ”\n\n“Go down into the crypts. When I woke, I told him to take me down, to see if Father was\ntruly there. At first he didn’t know what I was saying, but I got him to the steps by telling\nhim to go here and go there, only then he wouldn’t go down. He just stood on the top\nstep and said ‘Hodor,’ like he was scared of the dark, but I had a torch. It made me so\nmad I almost gave him a swat in the head, like Old Nan is always doing.” He saw the way\nthe maester was frowning and hurriedly added, “I didn’t, though.”\n\n“Good. Hodor is a man, not a mule to be beaten.”\n\n“In the dream I flew down with the crow, but I can’t do that when I’m awake,” Bran\nexplained.\n\n“Why would you want to go down to the crypts?”\n\n“I told you. To look for Father.”\n\nThe maester tugged at the chain around his neck, as he often did when he was\nuncomfortable. “Bran, sweet child, one day Lord Eddard will sit below in stone, beside\nhis father and his father’s father and all the Starks back to the old Kings in the\nNorth . . . but that will not be for many years, gods be good. Your father is a prisoner of\nthe queen in King’s Landing. You will not find him in the crypts.”\n"
## [665] "“He was there last night. I talked to him.”\n\n“Stubborn boy,” the maester sighed, setting his book aside. “Would you like to go see?”\n\n“I can’t. Hodor won’t go, and the steps are too narrow and twisty for Dancer.”\n\n“I believe I can solve that difficulty.”\n\nIn place of Hodor, the wildling woman Osha was summoned. She was tall and tough and\nuncomplaining, willing to go wherever she was commanded. “I lived my life beyond the\nWall, a hole in the ground won’t fret me none, m’lords,” she said.\n\n“Summer, come,” Bran called as she lifted him in wiry-strong arms. The direwolf left his\nbone and followed as Osha carried Bran across the yard and down the spiral steps to the\ncold vault under the earth. Maester Luwin went ahead with a torch. Bran did not even\nmind—too badly—that she carried him in her arms and not on her back. Ser Rodrik had\nordered Osha’s chain struck off, since she had served faithfully and well since she had\nbeen at Winterfell. She still wore the heavy iron shackles around her ankles—a sign that\nshe was not yet wholly trusted—but they did not hinder her sure strides down the steps.\n\nBran could not recall the last time he had been in the crypts. It had been before, for\ncertain. When he was little, he used to play down here with Robb and Jon and his sisters.\n\nHe wished they were here now; the vault might not have seemed so dark and scary.\nSummer stalked out in the echoing gloom, then stopped, lifted his head, and sniffed the\nchill dead air. He bared his teeth and crept backward, eyes glowing golden in the light of\nthe maester’s torch. Even Osha, hard as old iron, seemed uncomfortable. “Grim folk, by\nthe look of them,” she said as she eyed the long row of granite Starks on their stone\nthrones.\n\n“They were the Kings of Winter,” Bran whispered. Somehow it felt wrong to talk too\nloudly in this place.\n\nOsha smiled. “Winter’s got no king. If you’d seen it, you’d know that, summer boy.”\n\n“They were the Kings in the North for thousands of years,” Maester Luwin said, lifting\nthe torch high so the light shone on the stone faces. Some were hairy and bearded,\nshaggy men fierce as the wolves that crouched by their feet. Others were shaved clean,\ntheir features gaunt and sharp-edged as the iron longswords across their laps. “Hard\nmen for a hard time. Come.” He strode briskly down the vault, past the procession of\nstone pillars and the endless carved figures. A tongue of flame trailed back from the\n"
## [666] "upraised torch as he went.\n\nThe vault was cavernous, longer than Winterfell itself, and Jon had told him once that\nthere were other levels underneath, vaults even deeper and darker where the older kings\nwere buried. It would not do to lose the light. Summer refused to move from the steps,\neven when Osha followed the torch, Bran in her arms.\n\n“Do you recall your history, Bran?” the maester said as they walked. “Tell Osha who they\nwere and what they did, if you can.”\n\nHe looked at the passing faces and the tales came back to him. The maester had told him\nthe stories, and Old Nan had made them come alive. “That one is Jon Stark. When the\nsea raiders landed in the east, he drove them out and built the castle at White Harbor.\nHis son was Rickard Stark, not my father’s father but another Rickard, he took the Neck\naway from the Marsh King and married his daughter. Theon Stark’s the real thin one\nwith the long hair and the skinny beard. They called him the ‘Hungry Wolf,’ because he\nwas always at war. That’s a Brandon, the tall one with the dreamy face, he was Brandon\nthe Shipwright, because he loved the sea. His tomb is empty. He tried to sail west across\nthe Sunset Sea and was never seen again. His son was Brandon the Burner, because he\nput the torch to all his father’s ships in grief. There’s Rodrik Stark, who won Bear Island\nin a wrestling match and gave it to the Mormonts. And that’s Torrhen Stark, the King\nWho Knelt. He was the last King in the North and the first Lord of Winterfell, after he\nyielded to Aegon the Conqueror. Oh, there, he’s Cregan Stark. He fought with Prince\nAemon once, and the Dragonknight said he’d never faced a finer swordsman.” They were\nalmost at the end now, and Bran felt a sadness creeping over him. “And there’s my\ngrandfather, Lord Rickard, who was beheaded by Mad King Aerys. His daughter Lyanna\nand his son Brandon are in the tombs beside him. Not me, another Brandon, my father’s\nbrother. They’re not supposed to have statues, that’s only for the lords and the kings, but\nmy father loved them so much he had them done.”\n\n“The maid’s a fair one,” Osha said.\n\n“Robert was betrothed to marry her, but Prince Rhaegar carried her off and raped her,”\nBran explained. “Robert fought a war to win her back. He killed Rhaegar on the Trident\nwith his hammer, but Lyanna died and he never got her back at all.”\n\n“A sad tale,” said Osha, “but those empty holes are sadder.”\n\n“Lord Eddard’s tomb, for when his time comes,” Maester Luwin said. “Is this where you\nsaw your father in your dream, Bran?”\n\n“Yes.” The memory made him shiver. He looked around the vault uneasily, the hairs on\n"
## [667] "the back of his neck bristling. Had he heard a noise? Was there someone here?\n\nMaester Luwin stepped toward the open sepulchre, torch in hand. “As you see, he’s not\nhere. Nor will he be, for many a year. Dreams are only dreams, child.” He thrust his arm\ninto the blackness inside the tomb, as into the mouth of some great beast. “Do you see?\nIt’s quite empt—”\n\nThe darkness sprang at him, snarling.\n\nBran saw eyes like green fire, a flash of teeth, fur as black as the pit around them.\nMaester Luwin yelled and threw up his hands. The torch went flying from his fingers,\ncaromed off the stone face of Brandon Stark, and tumbled to the statue’s feet, the flames\nlicking up his legs. In the drunken shifting torchlight, they saw Luwin struggling with\nthe direwolf, beating at his muzzle with one hand while the jaws closed on the other.\n\n“Summer!” Bran screamed.\n\nAnd Summer came, shooting from the dimness behind them, a leaping shadow. He\nslammed into Shaggydog and knocked him back, and the two direwolves rolled over and\nover in a tangle of grey and black fur, snapping and biting at each other, while Maester\nLuwin struggled to his knees, his arm torn and bloody. Osha propped Bran up against\nLord Rickard’s stone wolf as she hurried to assist the maester. In the light of the\nguttering torch, shadow wolves twenty feet tall fought on the wall and roof.\n\n“Shaggy,” a small voice called. When Bran looked up, his little brother was standing in\nthe mouth of Father’s tomb. With one final snap at Summer’s face, Shaggydog broke off\nand bounded to Rickon’s side. “You let my father be,” Rickon warned Luwin. “You let\nhim be.”\n\n“Rickon,” Bran said softly. “Father’s not here.”\n\n“Yes he is. I saw him.” Tears glistened on Rickon’s face. “I saw him last night.”\n\n“In your dream . . . ?”\n\nRickon nodded. “You leave him. You leave him be. He’s coming home now, like he\npromised. He’s coming home.”\n\nBran had never seen Maester Luwin took so uncertain before. Blood dripped down his\narm where Shaggydog had shredded the wool of his sleeve and the flesh beneath. “Osha,\nthe torch,” he said, biting through his pain, and she snatched it up before it went out.\nSoot stains blackened both legs of his uncle’s likeness. “That . . . that beast,” Luwin went\n"
## [668] "on, “is supposed to be chained up in the kennels.”\n\nRickon patted Shaggydog’s muzzle, damp with blood. “I let him loose. He doesn’t like\nchains.” He licked at his fingers.\n\n“Rickon,” Bran said, “would you like to come with me?”\n\n“No. I like it here.”\n\n“It’s dark here. And cold.”\n\n“I’m not afraid. I have to wait for Father.”\n\n“You can wait with me,” Bran said. “We’ll wait together, you and me and our wolves.”\nBoth of the direwolves were licking wounds now, and would bear close watching.\n\n“Bran,” the maester said firmly, “I know you mean well, but Shaggydog is too wild to run\nloose. I’m the third man he’s savaged. Give him the freedom of the castle and it’s only a\nquestion of time before he kills someone. The truth is hard, but the wolf has to be\nchained, or . . . &rdquo He hesitated\n\n. . . or killed, Bran thought, but what he said was, “He was not made for chains. We will\nwait in your tower, all of us.”\n\n“That is quite impossible,” Maester Luwin said.\n\nOsha grinned. “The boy’s the lordling here, as I recall.” She handed Luwin back his torch\nand scooped Bran up into her arms again. “The maester’s tower it is.”\n\n“Will you come, Rickon?”\n\nHis brother nodded. “If Shaggy comes too,” he said, running after Osha and Bran, and\nthere was nothing Maester Luwin could do but follow, keeping a wary eye on the wolves.\n\nMaester Luwin’s turret was so cluttered that it seemed to Bran a wonder that he ever\nfound anything. Tottering piles of books covered tables and chairs, rows of stoppered\njars lined the shelves, candle stubs and puddles of dried wax dotted the furniture, the\nbronze Myrish lens tube sat on a tripod by the terrace door, star charts hung from the\nwalls, shadow maps lay scattered among the rushes, papers, quills, and pots of inks were\neverywhere, and all of it was spotted with droppings from the ravens in the rafters. Their\nstrident quorks drifted down from above as Osha washed and cleaned and bandaged the\n"
## [669] "maester’s wounds, under Luwin’s terse instruction. “This is folly,” the small grey man\nsaid while she dabbed at the wolf bites with a stinging ointment. “I agree that it is odd\nthat both you boys dreamed the same dream, yet when you stop to consider it, it’s only\nnatural. You miss your lord father, and you know that he is a captive. Fear can fever a\nman’s mind and give him queer thoughts. Rickon is too young to comprehend—”\n\n“I’m four now,” Rickon said. He was peeking through the lens tube at the gargoyles on\nthe First Keep. The direwolves sat on opposite sides of the large round room, licking\ntheir wounds and gnawing on bones.\n\n“—too young, and—ooh, seven hells, that burns, no, don’t stop, more. Too young, as I\nsay, but you, Bran, you’re old enough to know that dreams are only dreams.”\n\n“Some are, some aren’t.” Osha poured pale red firemilk into a long gash. Luwin gasped.\n“The children of the forest could tell you a thing or two about dreaming.”\n\nTears were streaming down the maester’s face, yet he shook his head doggedly. “The\nchildren . . . live only in dreams. Now. Dead and gone. Enough, that’s enough. Now the\nbandages. Pads and then wrap, and make it tight, I’ll be bleeding.”\n\n“Old Nan says the children knew the songs of the trees, that they could fly like birds and\nswim like fish and talk to the animals,” Bran said. “She says that they made music so\nbeautiful that it made you cry like a little baby just to hear it.”\n\n“And all this they did with magic,” Maester Luwin said, distracted. “I wish they were\nhere now. A spell would heal my arm less painfully, and they could talk to Shaggydog\nand tell him not to bite.” He gave the big black wolf an angry glance out of the corner of\nhis eye. “Take a lesson, Bran. The man who trusts in spells is dueling with a glass sword.\nAs the children did. Here, let me show you something.” He stood abruptly, crossed the\nroom, and returned with a green jar in his good hand. “Have a look at these,” he said as\nhe pulled the stopper and shook out a handful of shiny black arrowheads.\n\nBran picked one up. “It’s made of glass.” Curious, Rickon drifted closer to peer over the\ntable.\n\n“Dragonglass,” Osha named it as she sat down beside Luwin, bandagings in hand.\n\n“Obsidian,” Maester Luwin insisted, holding out his wounded arm. “Forged in the fires\nof the gods, far below the earth. The children of the forest hunted with that, thousands of\nyears ago. The children worked no metal. In place of mail, they wore long shirts of\nwoven leaves and bound their legs in bark, so they seemed to melt into the wood. In\nplace of swords, they carried blades of obsidian.”\n"
## [670] "“And still do.” Osha placed soft pads over the bites on the maester’s forearm and bound\nthem tight with long strips of linen.\n\nBran held the arrowhead up close. The black glass was slick and shiny. He thought it\nbeautiful. “Can I keep one?”\n\n“As you wish,” the maester said.\n\n“I want one too,” Rickon said. “I want four. I’m four.”\n\nLuwin made him count them out. “Careful, they’re still sharp. Don’t cut yourself.”\n\n“Tell me about the children,” Bran said. It was important.\n\n“What do you wish to know?”\n\n“Everything.”\n\nMaester Luwin tugged at his chain collar where it chafed against his neck. “They were\npeople of the Dawn Age, the very first, before kings and kingdoms,” he said. “In those\ndays, there were no castles or holdfasts, no cities, not so much as a market town to be\nfound between here and the sea of Dorne. There were no men at all. Only the children of\nthe forest dwelt in the lands we now call the Seven Kingdoms.\n\n“They were a people dark and beautiful, small of stature, no taller than children even\nwhen grown to manhood. They lived in the depths of the wood, in caves and crannogs\nand secret tree towns. Slight as they were, the children were quick and graceful. Male\nand female hunted together, with weirwood bows and flying snares. Their gods were the\ngods of the forest, stream, and stone, the old gods whose names are secret. Their wise\nmen were called greenseers, and carved strange faces in the weirwoods to keep watch on\nthe woods. How long the children reigned here or where they came from, no man can\nknow.\n\n“But some twelve thousand years ago, the First Men appeared from the east, crossing the\nBroken Arm of Dorne before it was broken. They came with bronze swords and great\nleathern shields, riding horses. No horse had ever been seen on this side of the narrow\nsea. No doubt the children were as frightened by the horses as the First Men were by the\nfaces in the trees. As the First Men carved out holdfasts and farms, they cut down the\nfaces and gave them to the fire. Horror-struck, the children went to war. The old songs\nsay that the greenseers used dark magics to make the seas rise and sweep away the land,\nshattering the Arm, but it was too late to close the door. The wars went on until the earth\n"
## [671] "ran red with blood of men and children both, but more children than men, for men were\nbigger and stronger, and wood and stone and obsidian make a poor match for bronze.\nFinally the wise of both races prevailed, and the chiefs and heroes of the First Men met\nthe greenseers and wood dancers amidst the weirwood groves of a small island in the\ngreat lake called Gods Eye.\n\n“There they forged the Pact. The First Men were given the coastlands, the high plains\nand bright meadows, the mountains and bogs, but the deep woods were to remain\nforever the children’s, and no more weirwoods were to be put to the axe anywhere in the\nrealm. So the gods might bear witness to the signing, every tree on the island was given a\nface, and afterward, the sacred order of green men was formed to keep watch over the\nIsle of Faces.\n\n“The Pact began four thousand years of friendship between men and children. In time,\nthe First Men even put aside the gods they had brought with them, and took up the\nworship of the secret gods of the wood. The signing of the Pact ended the Dawn Age, and\nbegan the Age of Heroes.”\n\nBran’s fist curled around the shiny black arrowhead. “But the children of the forest are\nall gone now, you said.”\n\n“Here, they are,” said Osha, as she bit off the end of the last bandage with her teeth.\n“North of the Wall, things are different. That’s where the children went, and the giants,\nand the other old races.”\n\nMaester Luwin sighed. “Woman, by rights you ought to be dead or in chains. The Starks\nhave treated you more gently than you deserve. It is unkind to repay them for their\nkindness by filling the boys’ heads with folly.”\n\n“Tell me where they went,” Bran said. “I want to know.”\n\n“Me too,” Rickon echoed.\n\n“Oh, very well,” Luwin muttered. “So long as the kingdoms of the First Men held sway,\nthe Pact endured, all through the Age of Heroes and the Long Night and the birth of the\nSeven Kingdoms, yet finally there came a time, many centuries later, when other peoples\ncrossed the narrow sea.\n\n“The Andals were the first, a race of tall, fair-haired warriors who came with steel and\nfire and the seven-pointed star of the new gods painted on their chests. The wars lasted\nhundreds of years, but in the end the six southron kingdoms all fell before them. Only\nhere, where the King in the North threw back every army that tried to cross the Neck,\n"
## [672] "did the rule of the First Men endure. The Andals burnt out the weirwood groves, hacked\ndown the faces, slaughtered the children where they found them, and everywhere\nproclaimed the triumph of the Seven over the old gods. So the children fled north—”\n\nSummer began to howl.\n\nMaester Luwin broke off, startled. When Shaggydog bounded to his feet and added his\nvoice to his brother’s, dread clutched at Bran’s heart. “It’s coming,” he whispered, with\nthe certainty of despair. He had known it since last night, he realized, since the crow had\nled him down into the crypts to say farewell. He had known it, but he had not believed.\nHe had wanted Maester Luwin to be right. The crow, he thought, the three-eyed\ncrow . . .\n\nThe howling stopped as suddenly as it had begun. Summer padded across the tower\nfloor to Shaggydog, and began to lick at a mat of bloody fur on the back of his brother’s\nneck. From the window came a flutter of wings.\n\nA raven landed on the grey stone sill, opened its beak, and gave a harsh, raucous rattle of\ndistress.\n\nRickon began to cry. His arrowheads fell from his hand one by one and clattered on the\nfloor. Bran pulled him close and hugged him.\n\nMaester Luwin stared at the black bird as if it were a scorpion with feathers. He rose,\nslow as a sleepwalker, and moved to the window. When he whistled, the raven hopped\nonto his bandaged forearm. There was dried blood on its wings. “A hawk,” Luwin\nmurmured, “perhaps an owl. Poor thing, a wonder it got through.” He took the letter\nfrom its leg.\n\nBran found himself shivering as the maester unrolled the paper. “What is it?” he said,\nholding his brother all the harder.\n\n“You know what it is, boy,” Osha said, not unkindly. She put her hand on his head.\n\nMaester Luwin looked up at them numbly, a small grey man with blood on the sleeve of\nhis grey wool robe and tears in his bright grey eyes. “My lords,” he said to the sons, in a\nvoice gone hoarse and shrunken, “we . . . we shall need to find a stonecarver who knew\nhis likeness well . . . ”\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [673] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n SANSA\nIn the tower room at the heart of Maegor’s Holdfast, Sansa gave herself to the darkness.\n\nShe drew the curtains around her bed, slept, woke weeping, and slept again. When she\ncould not sleep she lay under her blankets shivering with grief. Servants came and went,\nbringing meals, but the sight of food was more than she could bear. The dishes piled up\non the table beneath her window, untouched and spoiling, until the servants took them\naway again.\n\nSometimes her sleep was leaden and dreamless, and she woke from it more tired than\nwhen she had closed her eyes. Yet those were the best times, for when she dreamed, she\ndreamed of Father. Waking or sleeping, she saw him, saw the gold cloaks fling him\ndown, saw Ser Ilyn striding forward, unsheathing Ice from the scabbard on his back, saw\nthe moment . . . the moment when . . . she had wanted to look away, she had wanted to,\nher legs had gone out from under her and she had fallen to her knees, yet somehow she\ncould not turn her head, and all the people were screaming and shouting, and her prince\nhad smiled at her, he’d smiled and she’d felt safe, but only for a heartbeat, until he said\nthose words, and her father’s legs . . . that was what she remembered, his legs, the way\nthey’d jerked when Ser Ilyn . . . when the sword . . .\n\nPerhaps I will die too, she told herself, and the thought did not seem so terrible to her. If\nshe flung herself from the window, she could put an end to her suffering, and in the\nyears to come the singers would write songs of her grief. Her body would lie on the\nstones below, broken and innocent, shaming all those who had betrayed her. Sansa went\nso far as to cross the bedchamber and throw open the shutters . . . but then her courage\nleft her, and she ran back to her bed, sobbing.\n\nThe serving girls tried to talk to her when they brought her meals, but she never\nanswered them. Once Grand Maester Pycelle came with a box of flasks and bottles, to\nask if she was ill. He felt her brow, made her undress, and touched her all over while her\nbedmaid held her down. When he left he gave her a potion of honeywater and herbs and\ntold her to drink a swallow every night. She drank it all right then and went back to sleep.\n\nShe dreamt of footsteps on the tower stair, an ominous scraping of leather on stone as a\nman climbed slowly toward her bedchamber, step by step. All she could do was huddle\nbehind her door and listen, trembling, as he came closer and closer. It was Ser Ilyn\n"
## [674] "Payne, she knew, coming for her with Ice in his hand, coming to take her head. There\nwas no place to run, no place to hide, no way to bar the door. Finally the footsteps\nstopped and she knew he was just outside, standing there silent with his dead eyes and\nhis long pocked face. That was when she realized she was naked. She crouched down,\ntrying to cover herself with her hands, as her door began to swing open, creaking, the\npoint of the greatsword poking through . . .\n\nShe woke murmuring, “Please, please, I’ll be good, I’ll be good, please don’t,” but there\nwas no one to hear.\n\nWhen they finally came for her in truth, Sansa never heard their footsteps. It was Joffrey\nwho opened her door, not Ser Ilyn but the boy who had been her prince. She was in bed,\ncurled up tight, her curtains drawn, and she could not have said if it was noon or\nmidnight. The first thing she heard was the slam of the door. Then her bed hangings\nwere yanked back, and she threw up a hand against the sudden light and saw them\nstanding over her.\n\n“You will attend me in court this afternoon,” Joffrey said. “See that you bathe and dress\nas befits my betrothed.” Sandor Clegane stood at his shoulder in a plain brown doublet\nand green mantle, his burned face hideous in the morning light. Behind them were two\nknights of the Kingsguard in long white satin cloaks.\n\nSansa drew her blanket up to her chin to cover herself. “No,” she whimpered,\n“please . . . leave me be.”\n\n“If you won’t rise and dress yourself, my Hound will do it for you,” Joffrey said.\n\n“I beg of you, my prince . . . ”\n\n“I’m king now. Dog, get her out of bed.”\n\nSandor Clegane scooped her up around the waist and lifted her off the featherbed as she\nstruggled feebly. Her blanket fell to the floor. Underneath she had only a thin bedgown\nto cover her nakedness. “Do as you’re bid, child,” Clegane said. “Dress.” He pushed her\ntoward her wardrobe, almost gently.\n\nSansa backed away from them. “I did as the queen asked, I wrote the letters, I wrote\nwhat she told me. You promised you’d be merciful. Please, let me go home. I won’t do\nany treason, I’ll be good, I swear it, I don’t have traitor’s blood, I don’t. I only want to go\nhome.” Remembering her courtesies, she lowered her head. “As it please you,” she\nfinished weakly.\n"
## [675] "“It does not please me,” Joffrey said. “Mother says I’m still to marry you, so you’ll stay\nhere, and you’ll obey.”\n\n“I don’t want to marry you,” Sansa wailed. “You chopped off my father’s head!”\n\n“He was a traitor. I never promised to spare him, only that I’d be merciful, and I was. If\nhe hadn’t been your father, I would have had him torn or flayed, but I gave him a clean\ndeath.”\n\nSansa stared at him, seeing him for the first time. He was wearing a padded crimson\ndoublet patterned with lions and a cloth-of-gold cape with a high collar that framed his\nface. She wondered how she could ever have thought him handsome. His lips were as\nsoft and red as the worms you found after a rain, and his eyes were vain and cruel. “I\nhate you,” she whispered.\n\nKing Joffrey’s face hardened. “My mother tells me that it isn’t fitting that a king should\nstrike his wife. Ser Meryn.”\n\nThe knight was on her before she could think, yanking back her hand as she tried to\nshield her face and backhanding her across the ear with a gloved fist. Sansa did not\nremember failing, yet the next she knew she was sprawled on one knee amongst the\nrushes. Her head was ringing. Ser Meryn Trant stood over her, with blood on the\nknuckles of his white silk glove.\n\n“Will you obey now, or shall I have him chastise you again?”\n\nSansa’s ear felt numb. She touched it, and her fingertips came away wet and red.\n“I . . . as . . . as you command, my lord.”\n\n“Your Grace,” Joffrey corrected her. “I shall look for you in court.” He turned and left.\n\nSer Meryn and Ser Arys followed him out, but Sandor Clegane lingered long enough to\nyank her roughly to her feet. “Save yourself some pain, girl, and give him what he wants.”\n\n“What . . . what does he want? Please, tell me.”\n\n“He wants you to smile and smell sweet and be his lady love,” the Hound rasped. “He\nwants to hear you recite all your pretty little words the way the septa taught you. He\nwants you to love him . . . and fear him.”\n\nAfter he was gone, Sansa sank back onto the rushes, staring at the wall until two of her\nbedmaids crept timidly into the chamber. “I will need hot water for my bath, please,” she\n"
## [676] "told them, “and perfume, and some powder to hide this bruise.” The right side of her\nface was swollen and beginning to ache, but she knew Joffrey would want her to be\nbeautiful.\n\nThe hot water made her think of Winterfell, and she took strength from that. She had\nnot washed since the day her father died, and she was startled at how filthy the water\nbecame. Her maids sluiced the blood off her face, scrubbed the dirt from her back,\nwashed her hair and brushed it out until it sprang back in thick auburn curls. Sansa did\nnot speak to them, except to give them commands; they were Lannister servants, not her\nown, and she did not trust them. When the time came to dress, she chose the green silk\ngown that she had worn to the tourney. She recalled how gallant Joff had been to her\nthat night at the feast. Perhaps it would make him remember as well, and treat her more\ngently.\n\nShe drank a glass of buttermilk and nibbled at some sweet biscuits as she waited, to\nsettle her stomach. It was midday when Ser Meryn returned. He had donned his white\narmor; a shirt of enameled scales chased with gold, a tall helm with a golden sunburst\ncrest, greaves and gorget and gauntlet and boots of gleaming plate, a heavy wool cloak\nclasped with a golden lion. His visor had been removed from his helm, to better show his\ndour face; pouchy bags under his eyes, a wide sour mouth, rusty hair spotted with grey.\n“My lady,” he said, bowing, as if he had not beaten her bloody only three hours past.\n“His Grace has instructed me to escort you to the throne room.”\n\n“Did he instruct you to hit me if I refused to come?”\n\n“Are you refusing to come, my lady?” The look he gave her was without expression. He\ndid not so much as glance at the bruise he had left her.\n\nHe did not hate her, Sansa realized; neither did he love her. He felt nothing for her at all.\nShe was only a . . . a thing to him. “No,” she said, rising. She wanted to rage, to hurt him\nas he’d hurt her, to warn him that when she was queen she would have him exiled if he\never dared strike her again . . . but she remembered what the Hound had told her, so all\nshe said was, “I shall do whatever His Grace commands.”\n\n“As I do,” he replied.\n\n“Yes . . . but you are no true knight, Ser Meryn.”\n\nSandor Clegane would have laughed at that, Sansa knew. Other men might have cursed\nher, warned her to keep silent, even begged for her forgiveness. Ser Meryn Trant did\nnone of these. Ser Meryn Trant simply did not care.\n"
## [677] "The balcony was deserted save for Sansa. She stood with her head bowed, fighting to\nhold back her tears, while below Joffrey sat on his Iron Throne and dispensed what it\npleased him to call justice. Nine cases out of ten seemed to bore him; those he allowed\nhis council to handle, squirming restlessly while Lord Baelish, Grand Maester Pycelle, or\nQueen Cersei resolved the matter. When he did choose to make a ruling, though, not\neven his queen mother could sway him.\n\nA thief was brought before him and he had Ser Ilyn chop his hand off, right there in\ncourt. Two knights came to him with a dispute about some land, and he decreed that\nthey should duel for it on the morrow. “To the death,” he added. A woman fell to her\nknees to plead for the head of a man executed as a traitor. She had loved him, she said,\nand she wanted to see him decently buried. “If you loved a traitor, you must be a traitor\ntoo,” Joffrey said. Two gold cloaks dragged her off to the dungeons.\n\nFrog-faced Lord Slynt sat at the end of the council table wearing a black velvet doublet\nand a shiny cloth-of-gold cape, nodding with approval every time the king pronounced a\nsentence. Sansa stared hard at his ugly face, remembering how he had thrown down her\nfather for Ser Ilyn to behead, wishing she could hurt him, wishing that some hero would\nthrow him down and cut off his head. But a voice inside her whispered, There are no\nheroes, and she remembered what Lord Petyr had said to her, here in this very hall. “Life\nis not a song, sweetling,” he’d told her. “You may learn that one day to your sorrow.” In\nlife, the monsters win, she told herself, and now it was the Hound’s voice she heard, a\ncold rasp, metal on stone. “Save yourself some pain, girl, and give him what he wants.”\n\nThe last case was a plump tavern singer, accused of making a song that ridiculed the late\nKing Robert. Joff commanded them to fetch his woodharp and ordered him to perform\nthe song for the court. The singer wept and swore he would never sing that song again,\nbut the king insisted. It was sort of a funny song, all about Robert fighting with a pig.\nThe pig was the boar who’d killed him, Sansa knew, but in some verses it almost\nsounded as if he were singing about the queen. When the song was done, Joffrey\nannounced that he’d decided to be merciful. The singer could keep either his fingers or\nhis tongue. He would have a day to make his choice. Janos Slynt nodded.\n\nThat was the final business of the afternoon, Sansa saw with relief, but her ordeal was\nnot yet done. When the herald’s voice dismissed the court, she fled the balcony, only to\nfind Joffrey waiting for her at the base of the curving stairs. The Hound was with him,\nand Ser Meryn as well. The young king examined her critically, top to bottom. “You look\nmuch better than you did.”\n\n“Thank you, Your Grace,” Sansa said. Hollow words, but they made him nod and smile.\n\n“Walk with me,” Joffrey commanded, offering her his arm. She had no choice but to take\n"
## [678] "it. The touch of his hand would have thrilled her once; now it made her flesh crawl. “My\nname day will be here soon,” Joffrey said as they slipped out the rear of the throne room.\n“There will be a great feast, and gifts. What are you going to give me?”\n\n“I . . . I had not thought, my lord.”\n\n“Your Grace,” he said sharply. “You truly are a stupid girl, aren’t you? My mother says\nso.”\n\n“She does?” After all that had happened, his words should have lost their power to hurt\nher, yet somehow they had not. The queen had always been so kind to her.\n\n“Oh, yes. She worries about our children, whether they’ll be stupid like you, but I told\nher not to trouble herself.” The king gestured, and Ser Meryn opened a door for them.\n\n“Thank you, Your Grace,” she murmured. The Hound was right, she thought, I am only\na little bird, repeating the words they taught me. The sun had fallen below the western\nwall, and the stones of the Red Keep glowed dark as blood.\n\n“I’ll get you with child as soon as you’re able,” Joffrey said as he escorted her across the\npractice yard. “If the first one is stupid, I’ll chop off your head and find a smarter wife.\nWhen do you think you’ll be able to have children?”\n\nSansa could not look at him, he shamed her so. “Septa Mordane says most . . . most\nhighborn girls have their flowering at twelve or thirteen.”\n\nJoffrey nodded. “This way.” He led her into the gatehouse, to the base of the steps that\nled up to the battlements.\n\nSansa jerked back away from him, trembling. Suddenly she knew where they were going.\n“No,” she said, her voice a frightened gasp. “Please, no, don’t make me, I beg you . . . ”\n\nJoffrey pressed his lips together. “I want to show you what happens to traitors.”\n\nSansa shook her head wildly. “I won’t. I won’t.”\n\n“I can have Ser Meryn drag you up,” he said. “You won’t like that. You had better do\nwhat I say.” Joffrey reached for her, and Sansa cringed away from him, backing into the\nHound.\n\n“Do it, girl,” Sandor Clegane told her, pushing her back toward the king. His mouth\n"
## [679] "twitched on the burned side of his face and Sansa could almost hear the rest of it. He’ll\nhave you up there no matter what, so give him what he wants.\n\nShe forced herself to take King Joffrey’s hand. The climb was something out of a\nnightmare; every step was a struggle, as if she were pulling her feet out of ankle-deep\nmud, and there were more steps than she would have believed, a thousand thousand\nsteps, and horror waiting on the ramparts.\n\nFrom the high battlements of the gatehouse, the whole world spread out below them.\nSansa could see the Great Sept of Baelor on Visenya’s hill, where her father had died. At\nthe other end of the Street of the Sisters stood the fire-blackened ruins of the Dragonpit.\nTo the west, the swollen red sun was half-hidden behind the Gate of the Gods. The salt\nsea was at her back, and to the south was the fish market and the docks and the swirling\ntorrent of the Blackwater Rush. And to the north . . .\n\nShe turned that way, and saw only the city, streets and alleys and hills and bottoms and\nmore streets and more alleys and the stone of distant walls. Yet she knew that beyond\nthem was open country, farms and fields and forests, and beyond that, north and north\nand north again, stood Winterfell.\n\n“What are you looking at?” Joffrey said. “This is what I wanted you to see, right here.”\n\nA thick stone parapet protected the outer edge of the rampart, reaching as high as\nSansa’s chin, with crenellations cut into it every five feet for archers. The heads were\nmounted between the crenels, along the top of the wall, impaled on iron spikes so they\nfaced out over the city. Sansa had noted them the moment she’d stepped out onto the\nwallwalk, but the river and the bustling streets and the setting sun were ever so much\nprettier. He can make me look at the heads, she told herself, but he can’t make me see\nthem.\n\n“This one is your father,” he said. “This one here. Dog, turn it around so she can see him.”\n\nSandor Clegane took the head by the hair and turned it. The severed head had been\ndipped in tar to preserve it longer. Sansa looked at it calmly, not seeing it at all. It did\nnot really look like Lord Eddard, she thought; it did not even look real. “How long do I\nhave to look?”\n\nJoffrey seemed disappointed. “Do you want to see the rest?” There was a long row of\nthem.\n\n“If it please Your Grace.”\n"
## [680] "Joffrey marched her down the wallwalk, past a dozen more heads and two empty spikes.\n“I’m saving those for my uncle Stannis and my uncle Renly,” he explained. The other\nheads had been dead and mounted much longer than her father. Despite the tar, most\nwere long past being recognizable. The king pointed to one and said, “That’s your septa\nthere,” but Sansa could not even have told that it was a woman. The jaw had rotted off\nher face, and birds had eaten one ear and most of a cheek.\n\nSansa had wondered what had happened to Septa Mordane, although she supposed she\nhad known all along. “Why did you kill her?” she asked. “She was godsworn . . . ”\n\n“She was a traitor.” Joffrey looked pouty; somehow she was upsetting him. “You haven’t\nsaid what you mean to give me for my name day. Maybe I should give you something\ninstead, would you like that?”\n\n“If it please you, my lord,” Sansa said.\n\nWhen he smiled, she knew he was mocking her. “Your brother is a traitor too, you\nknow.” He turned Septa Mordane’s head back around. “I remember your brother from\nWinterfell. My dog called him the lord of the wooden sword. Didn’t you, dog?”\n\n“Did I?” the Hound replied. “I don’t recall.”\n\nJoffrey gave a petulant shrug. “Your brother defeated my uncle Jaime. My mother says it\nwas treachery and deceit. She wept when she heard. Women are all weak, even her,\nthough she pretends she isn’t. She says we need to stay in King’s Landing in case my\nother uncles attack, but I don’t care. After my name day feast, I’m going to raise a host\nand kill your brother myself. That’s what I’ll give you, Lady Sansa. Your brother’s head.”\n\nA kind of madness took over her then, and she heard herself say, “Maybe my brother will\ngive me your head.”\n\nJoffrey scowled. “You must never mock me like that. A true wife does not mock her lord.\nSer Meryn, teach her.”\n\nThis time the knight grasped her beneath the jaw and held her head still as he struck her.\nHe hit her twice, left to right, and harder, right to left. Her lip split and blood ran down\nher chin, to mingle with the salt of her tears.\n\n“You shouldn’t be crying all the time,” Joffrey told her. “You’re more pretty when you\nsmile and laugh.”\n\nSansa made herself smile, afraid that he would have Ser Meryn hit her again if she did\n"
## [681] "not, but it was no good, the king still shook his head. “Wipe off the blood, you’re all\nmessy.”\n\nThe outer parapet came up to her chin, but along the inner edge of the walk was nothing,\nnothing but a long plunge to the bailey seventy or eighty feet below. All it would take was\na shove, she told herself. He was standing right there, right there, smirking at her with\nthose fat wormlips. You could do it, she told herself. You could. Do it right now. It\nwouldn’t even matter if she went over with him. It wouldn’t matter at all.\n\n“Here, girl.” Sandor Clegane knelt before her, between her and Joffrey. With a delicacy\nsurprising in such a big man, he dabbed at the blood welling from her broken lip.\n\nThe moment was gone. Sansa lowered her eyes. “Thank you,” she said when he was\ndone. She was a good girl, and always remembered her courtesies.\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [682] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n DAENERYS\nWings shadowed her fever dreams.\n\n“You don’t want to wake the dragon, do you?”\n\nShe was walking down a long hall beneath high stone arches. She could not look behind\nher, must not look behind her. There was a door ahead of her, tiny with distance, but\neven from afar, she saw that it was painted red. She walked faster, and her bare feet left\nbloody footprints on the stone.\n\n“You don’t want to wake the dragon, do you?”\n\nShe saw sunlight on the Dothraki sea, the living plain, rich with the smells of earth and\ndeath. Wind stirred the grasses, and they rippled like water. Drogo held her in strong\narms, and his hand stroked her sex and opened her and woke that sweet wetness that\nwas his alone, and the stars smiled down on them, stars in a daylight sky. “Home,” she\nwhispered as he entered her and filled her with his seed, but suddenly the stars were\ngone, and across the blue sky swept the great wings, and the world took flame.\n\n“ . . . don’t want to wake the dragon, do you?”\n\nSer Jorah’s face was drawn and sorrowful. “Rhaegar was the last dragon,” he told her.\nHe warmed translucent hands over a glowing brazier where stone eggs smouldered red\nas coals. One moment he was there and the next he was fading, his flesh colorless, less\nsubstantial than the wind. “The last dragon,” he whispered, thin as a wisp, and was gone.\nShe felt the dark behind her, and the red door seemed farther away than ever.\n\n“ . . . don’t want to wake the dragon, do you?”\n\nViserys stood before her, screaming. “The dragon does not beg, slut. You do not\ncommand the dragon. I am the dragon, and I will be crowned.” The molten gold trickled\ndown his face like wax, burning deep channels in his flesh. “I am the dragon and I will\nbe crowned!” he shrieked, and his fingers snapped like snakes, biting at her nipples,\npinching, twisting, even as his eyes burst and ran like jelly down seared and blackened\ncheeks.\n"
## [683] "“ . . . don’t want to wake the dragon . . . ”\n\nThe red door was so far ahead of her, and she could feel the icy breath behind, sweeping\nup on her. If it caught her she would die a death that was more than death, howling\nforever alone in the darkness. She began to run.\n\n“ . . . don’t want to wake the dragon . . . ”\n\nShe could feel the heat inside her, a terrible burning in her womb. Her son was tall and\nproud, with Drogo’s copper skin and her own silver-gold hair, violet eyes shaped like\nalmonds. And he smiled for her and began to lift his hand toward hers, but when he\nopened his mouth the fire poured out. She saw his heart burning through his chest, and\nin an instant he was gone, consumed like a moth by a candle, turned to ash. She wept for\nher child, the promise of a sweet mouth on her breast, but her tears turned to steam as\nthey touched her skin.\n\n“ . . . want to wake the dragon . . . ”\n\nGhosts lined the hallway, dressed in the faded raiment of kings. In their hands were\nswords of pale fire. They had hair of silver and hair of gold and hair of platinum white,\nand their eyes were opal and amethyst, tourmaline and jade. “Faster,” they cried, “faster,\nfaster.” She raced, her feet melting the stone wherever they touched. “Faster!” the ghosts\ncried as one, and she screamed and threw herself forward. A great knife of pain ripped\ndown her back, and she felt her skin tear open and smelled the stench of burning blood\nand saw the shadow of wings. And Daenerys Targaryen flew.\n\n“ . . . wake the dragon . . . ”\n\nThe door loomed before her, the red door, so close, so close, the hall was a blur around\nher, the cold receding behind. And now the stone was gone and she flew across the\nDothraki sea, high and higher, the green rippling beneath, and all that lived and\nbreathed fled in terror from the shadow of her wings. She could smell home, she could\nsee it, there, just beyond that door, green fields and great stone houses and arms to keep\nher warm, there. She threw open the door.\n\n“ . . . the dragon . . . ”\n\nAnd saw her brother Rhaegar, mounted on a stallion as black as his armor. Fire\nglimmered red through the narrow eye slit of his helm. “The last dragon,” Ser Jorah’s\nvoice whispered faintly. “The last, the last.” Dany lifted his polished black visor. The face\nwithin was her own.\n"
## [684] "After that, for a long time, there was only the pain, the fire within her, and the\nwhisperings of stars.\n\nShe woke to the taste of ashes.\n\n“No,” she moaned, “no, please.”\n\n“Khaleesi?” Jhiqui hovered over her, a frightened doe.\n\nThe tent was drenched in shadow, still and close. Flakes of ash drifted upward from a\nbrazier, and Dany followed them with her eyes through the smoke hole above. Flying,\nshe thought. I had wings, I was flying. But it was only a dream. “Help me,” she\nwhispered, struggling to rise. “Bring me . . . ” Her voice was raw as a wound, and she\ncould not think what she wanted. Why did she hurt so much? It was as if her body had\nbeen torn to pieces and remade from the scraps. “I want . . . ”\n\n“Yes, Khaleesi.” Quick as that Jhiqui was gone, bolting from the tent, shouting. Dany\nneeded . . . something . . . someone . . . what? It was important, she knew. It was the only\nthing in the world that mattered. She rolled onto her side and got an elbow under her,\nfighting the blanket tangled about her legs. It was so hard to move. The world swam\ndizzily. I have to . . .\n\nThey found her on the carpet, crawling toward her dragon eggs. Ser Jorah Mormont\nlifted her in his arms and carried her back to her sleeping silks, while she struggled\nfeebly against him. Over his shoulder she saw her three handmaids, Jhogo with his little\nwisp of mustache, and the flat broad face of Mirri Maz Duur. “I must,” she tried to tell\nthem, “I have to . . . ”\n\n“ . . . sleep, Princess,” Ser Jorah said.\n\n“No,” Dany said. “Please. Please.”\n\n“Yes.” He covered her with silk, though she was burning. “Sleep and grow strong again,\nKhaleesi. Come back to us.” And then Mirri Maz Duur was there, the maegi, tipping a\ncup against her lips. She tasted sour milk, and something else, something thick and\nbitter. Warm liquid ran down her chin. Somehow she swallowed. The tent grew dimmer,\nand sleep took her again. This time she did not dream. She floated, serene and at peace,\non a black sea that knew no shore.\n\nAfter a time—a night, a day, a year, she could not say—she woke again. The tent was\ndark, its silken walls flapping like wings when the wind gusted outside. This time Dany\ndid not attempt to rise. “Irri,” she called, “Jhiqui. Doreah.” They were there at once. “My\n"
## [685] "throat is dry,” she said, “so dry,” and they brought her water. It was warm and flat, yet\nDany drank it eagerly, and sent Jhiqui for more. Irri dampened a soft cloth and stroked\nher brow. “I have been sick,” Dany said. The Dothraki girl nodded. “How long?” The\ncloth was soothing, but Irri seemed so sad, it frightened her. “Long,” she whispered.\nWhen Jhiqui returned with more water, Mirri Maz Duur came with her, eyes heavy from\nsleep. “Drink,” she said, lifting Dany’s head to the cup once more, but this time it was\nonly wine. Sweet, sweet wine. Dany drank, and lay back, listening to the soft sound of\nher own breathing. She could feel the heaviness in her limbs, as sleep crept in to fill her\nup once more. “Bring me . . . ” she murmured, her voice slurred and drowsy. “Bring . . . I\nwant to hold . . . ”\n\n“Yes?” the maegi asked. “What is it you wish, Khaleesi?”\n\n“Bring me . . . egg . . . dragon’s egg . . . please . . . ” Her lashes turned to lead, and she was\ntoo weary to hold them up.\n\nWhen she woke the third time, a shaft of golden sunlight was pouring through the smoke\nhole of the tent, and her arms were wrapped around a dragon’s egg. It was the pale one,\nits scales the color of butter cream, veined with whorls of gold and bronze, and Dany\ncould feel the heat of it. Beneath her bedsilks, a fine sheen of perspiration covered her\nbare skin. Dragondew, she thought. Her fingers trailed lightly across the surface of the\nshell, tracing the wisps of gold, and deep in the stone she felt something twist and\nstretch in response. It did not frighten her. All her fear was gone, burned away.\n\nDany touched her brow. Under the film of sweat, her skin was cool to the touch, her\nfever gone. She made herself sit. There was a moment of dizziness, and the deep ache\nbetween her thighs. Yet she felt strong. Her maids came running at the sound of her\nvoice. “Water,” she told them, “a flagon of water, cold as you can find it. And fruit, I\nthink. Dates.”\n\n“As you say, Khaleesi.”\n\n“I want Ser Jorah,” she said, standing. Jhiqui brought a sandsilk robe and draped it over\nher shoulders. “And a warm bath, and Mirri Maz Duur, and . . . ” Memory came back to\nher all at once, and she faltered. “Khal Drogo,” she forced herself to say, watching their\nfaces with dread. “Is he&mdash?”\n\n“The khal lives,” Irri answered quietly . . . yet Dany saw a darkness in her eyes when she\nsaid the words, and no sooner had she spoken than she rushed away to fetch water.\n\nShe turned to Doreah. “Tell me.”\n"
## [686] "“I . . . I shall bring Ser Jorah,” the Lysene girl said, bowing her head and fleeing the tent.\n\nJhiqui would have run as well, but Dany caught her by the wrist and held her captive.\n“What is it? I must know. Drogo . . . and my child.” Why had she not remembered the\nchild until now? “My son . . . Rhaego . . . where is he? I want him.”\n\nHer handmaid lowered her eyes. “The boy . . . he did not live, Khaleesi.” Her voice was a\nfrightened whisper.\n\nDany released her wrist. My son is dead, she thought as Jhiqui left the tent. She had\nknown somehow. She had known since she woke the first time to Jhiqui’s tears. No, she\nhad known before she woke. Her dream came back to her, sudden and vivid, and she\nremembered the tall man with the copper skin and long silver-gold braid, bursting into\nflame.\n\nShe should weep, she knew, yet her eyes were dry as ash. She had wept in her dream,\nand the tears had turned to steam on her cheeks. All the grief has been burned out of\nme, she told herself. She felt sad, and yet . . . she could feel Rhaego receding from her, as\nif he had never been.\n\nSer Jorah and Mirri Maz Duur entered a few moments later, and found Dany standing\nover the other dragon’s eggs, the two still in their chest. It seemed to her that they felt as\nhot as the one she had slept with, which was passing strange. “Ser Jorah, come here,”\nshe said. She took his hand and placed it on the black egg with the scarlet swirls. “What\ndo you feel?”\n\n“Shell, hard as rock.” The knight was wary. “Scales.”\n\n“Heat?”\n\n“No. Cold stone.” He took his hand away. “Princess, are you well? Should you be up,\nweak as you are?”\n\n“Weak? I am strong, Jorah.” To please him, she reclined on a pile of cushions. “Tell me\nhow my child died.”\n\n“He never lived, my princess. The women say . . . ” He faltered, and Dany saw how the\nflesh hung loose on him, and the way he limped when he moved.\n\n“Tell me. Tell me what the women say.”\n\nHe turned his face away. His eyes were haunted. “They say the child was . . . ”\n"
## [687] "She waited, but Ser Jorah could not say it. His face grew dark with shame. He looked\nhalf a corpse himself.\n\n“Monstrous,” Mirri Maz Duur finished for him. The knight was a powerful man, yet\nDany understood in that moment that the maegi was stronger, and crueler, and\ninfinitely more dangerous. “Twisted. I drew him forth myself. He was scaled like a lizard,\nblind, with the stub of a tail and small leather wings like the wings of a bat. When I\ntouched him, the flesh sloughed off the bone, and inside he was full of graveworms and\nthe stink of corruption. He had been dead for years.”\n\nDarkness, Dany thought. The terrible darkness sweeping up behind to devour her. If she\nlooked back she was lost. “My son was alive and strong when Ser Jorah carried me into\nthis tent,” she said. “I could feel him kicking, fighting to be born.”\n\n“That may be as it may be,” answered Mirri Maz Duur, “yet the creature that came forth\nfrom your womb was as I said. Death was in that tent, Khaleesi.”\n\n“Only shadows,” Ser Jorah husked, but Dany could hear the doubt in his voice. “I saw,\nmaegi. I saw you, alone, dancing with the shadows. “\n\n“The grave casts long shadows, Iron Lord,” Mirri said. “Long and dark, and in the end no\nlight can hold them back.”\n\nSer Jorah had killed her son, Dany knew. He had done what he did for love and loyalty,\nyet he had carried her into a place no living man should go and fed her baby to the\ndarkness. He knew it too; the grey face, the hollow eyes, the limp. “The shadows have\ntouched you too, Ser Jorah,” she told him. The knight made no reply. Dany turned to the\ngodswife. “You warned me that only death could pay for life. I thought you meant the\nhorse.”\n\n“No,” Mirri Maz Duur said. “That was a lie you told yourself. You knew the price.”\n\nHad she? Had she? If I look back I am lost. “The price was paid,” Dany said. “The horse,\nmy child, Quaro and Qotho, Haggo and Cohollo. The price was paid and paid and paid.”\nShe rose from her cushions. “Where is Khal Drogo? Show him to me, godswife, maegi,\nbloodmage, whatever you are. Show me Khal Drogo. Show me what I bought with my\nson’s life.”\n\n“As you command, Khaleesi,” the old woman said. “Come, I will take you to him.”\n\nDany was weaker than she knew. Ser Jorah slipped an arm around her and helped her\n"
## [688] "stand. “Time enough for this later, my princess,” he said quietly.\n\n“I would see him now, Ser Jorah.”\n\nAfter the dimness of the tent, the world outside was blinding bright. The sun burned like\nmolten gold, and the land was seared and empty. Her handmaids waited with fruit and\nwine and water, and Jhogo moved close to help Ser Jorah support her. Aggo and\nRakharo stood behind. The glare of sun on sand made it hard to see more, until Dany\nraised her hand to shade her eyes. She saw the ashes of a fire, a few score horses milling\nlistlessly and searching for a bite of grass, a scattering of tents and bedrolls. A small\ncrowd of children had gathered to watch her, and beyond she glimpsed women going\nabout their work, and withered old men staring at the flat blue sky with tired eyes,\nswatting feebly at bloodflies. A count might show a hundred people, no more. Where the\nother forty thousand had made their camp, only the wind and dust lived now.\n\n“Drogo’s khalasar is gone,” she said.\n\n“A khal who cannot ride is no khal,” said Jhogo.\n\n“The Dothraki follow only the strong,” Ser Jorah said. “I am sorry, my princess. There\nwas no way to hold them. Ko Pono left first, naming himself Khal Pono, and many\nfollowed him. Jhaqo was not long to do the same. The rest slipped away night by night,\nin large bands and small. There are a dozen new khalasars on the Dothraki sea, where\nonce there was only Drogo’s.”\n\n“The old remain,” said Aggo. “The frightened, the weak, and the sick. And we who swore.\nWe remain.”\n\n“They took Khal Drogo’s herds, Khaleesi,” Rakharo said. “We were too few to stop them.\nIt is the right of the strong to take from the weak. They took many slaves as well, the\nkhal’s and yours, yet they left some few.”\n\n“Eroeh?” asked Dany, remembering the frightened child she had saved outside the city\nof the Lamb Men.\n\n“Mago seized her, who is Khal Jhaqo’s bloodrider now,” said Jhogo. “He mounted her\nhigh and low and gave her to his khal, and Jhaqo gave her to his other bloodriders. They\nwere six. When they were done with her, they cut her throat.”\n\n“It was her fate, Khaleesi,” said Aggo.\n\nIf I look back I am lost. “It was a cruel fate,” Dany said, “yet not so cruel as Mago’s will\n"
## [689] "be. I promise you that, by the old gods and the new, by the lamb god and the horse god\nand every god that lives. I swear it by the Mother of Mountains and the Womb of the\nWorld. Before I am done with them, Mago and Ko Jhaqo will plead for the mercy they\nshowed Eroeh.”\n\nThe Dothraki exchanged uncertain glances. “Khaleesi, “ the handmaid Irri explained, as\nif to a child, “Jhaqo is a khal now, with twenty thousand riders at his back.”\n\nShe lifted her head. “And I am Daenerys Stormhorn, Daenerys of House Targaryen, of\nthe blood of Aegon the Conqueror and Maegor the Cruel and old Valyria before them. I\nam the dragon’s daughter, and I swear to you, these men will die screaming. Now bring\nme to Khal Drogo.”\n\nHe was lying on the bare red earth, staring up at the sun.\n\nA dozen bloodflies had settled on his body, though he did not seem to feel them. Dany\nbrushed them away and knelt beside him. His eyes were wide open but did not see, and\nshe knew at once that he was blind. When she whispered his name, he did not seem to\nhear. The wound on his breast was as healed as it would ever be, the scar that covered it\ngrey and red and hideous.\n\n“Why is he out here alone, in the sun?” she asked them.\n\n“He seems to like the warmth, Princess,” Ser Jorah said. “His eyes follow the sun, though\nhe does not see it. He can walk after a fashion. He will go where you lead him, but no\nfarther. He will eat if you put food in his mouth, drink if you dribble water on his lips.”\n\nDany kissed her sun-and-stars gently on the brow, and stood to face Mirri Maz Duur.\n“Your spells are costly, maegi.”\n\n“He lives,” said Mirri Maz Duur. “You asked for life. You paid for life.”\n\n“This is not life, for one who was as Drogo was. His life was laughter, and meat roasting\nover a firepit, and a horse between his legs. His life was an arakh in his hand and his\nbells ringing in his hair as he rode to meet an enemy. His life was his bloodriders, and\nme, and the son I was to give him.”\n\nMirri Maz Duur made no reply.\n\n“When will he be as he was?” Dany demanded.\n"
## [690] "“When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east,” said Mirri Maz Duur. “When the\nseas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When your womb quickens\nagain, and you bear a living child. Then he will return, and not before.”\n\nDany gestured at Ser Jorah and the others. “Leave us. I would speak with this maegi\nalone.” Mormont and the Dothraki withdrew. “You knew,” Dany said when they were\ngone. She ached, inside and out, but her fury gave her strength. “You knew what I was\nbuying, and you knew the price, and yet you let me pay it.”\n\n“It was wrong of them to burn my temple,” the heavy, flat-nosed woman said placidly.\n“That angered the Great Shepherd.”\n\n“This was no god’s work,” Dany said coldly. If I look back I am lost. “You cheated me.\nYou murdered my child within me.”\n\n“The stallion who mounts the world will burn no cities now. His khalasar shall trample\nno nations into dust.”\n\n“I spoke for you,” she said, anguished. “I saved you.”\n\n“Saved me?” The Lhazareen woman spat. “Three riders had taken me, not as a man\ntakes a woman but from behind, as a dog takes a bitch. The fourth was in me when you\nrode past. How then did you save me? I saw my god’s house burn, where I had healed\ngood men beyond counting. My home they burned as well, and in the street I saw piles of\nheads. I saw the head of a baker who made my bread. I saw the head of a boy I had saved\nfrom deadeye fever, only three moons past. I heard children crying as the riders drove\nthem off with their whips. Tell me again what you saved.”\n\n“Your life.”\n\nMirri Maz Duur laughed cruelly. “Look to your khal and see what life is worth, when all\nthe rest is gone.”\n\nDany called out for the men of her khas and bid them take Mirri Maz Duur and bind her\nhand and foot, but the maegi smiled at her as they carried her off, as if they shared a\nsecret. A word, and Dany could have her head off . . . yet then what would she have? A\nhead? If life was worthless, what was death?\n\nThey led Khal Drogo back to her tent, and Dany commanded them to fill a tub, and this\ntime there was no blood in the water. She bathed him herself, washing the dirt and the\ndust from his arms and chest, cleaning his face with a soft cloth, soaping his long black\nhair and combing the knots and tangles from it till it shone again as she remembered. It\n"
## [691] "was well past dark before she was done, and Dany was exhausted. She stopped for drink\nand food, but it was all she could do to nibble at a fig and keep down a mouthful of\nwater. Sleep would have been a release, but she had slept enough . . . too long, in truth.\nShe owed this night to Drogo, for all the nights that had been, and yet might be.\n\nThe memory of their first ride was with her when she led him out into the darkness, for\nthe Dothraki believed that all things of importance in a man’s life must be done beneath\nthe open sky. She told herself that there were powers stronger than hatred, and spells\nolder and truer than any the maegi had learned in Asshai. The night was black and\nmoonless, but overhead a million stars burned bright. She took that for an omen.\n\nNo soft blanket of grass welcomed them here, only the hard dusty ground, bare and\nstrewn with stones. No trees stirred in the wind, and there was no stream to soothe her\nfears with the gentle music of water. Dany told herself that the stars would be enough.\n“Remember, Drogo,” she whispered. “Remember our first ride together, the day we wed.\nRemember the night we made Rhaego, with the khalasar all around us and your eyes on\nmy face. Remember how cool and clean the water was in the Womb of the World.\nRemember, my sun-and-stars. Remember, and come back to me.”\n\nThe birth had left her too raw and torn to take him inside of her, as she would have\nwanted, but Doreah had taught her other ways. Dany used her hands, her mouth, her\nbreasts. She raked him with her nails and covered him with kisses and whispered and\nprayed and told him stories, and by the end she had bathed him with her tears. Yet\nDrogo did not feel, or speak, or rise.\n\nAnd when the bleak dawn broke over an empty horizon, Dany knew that he was truly\nlost to her. “When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east,” she said sadly. “When\nthe seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When my womb quickens\nagain, and I bear a living child. Then you will return, my sun-and-stars, and not before.”\n\nNever, the darkness cried, never never never.\n\nInside the tent Dany found a cushion, soft silk stuffed with feathers. She clutched it to\nher breasts as she walked back out to Drogo, to her sun-and-stars. If I look back I am\nlost. It hurt even to walk, and she wanted to sleep, to sleep and not to dream.\n\nShe knelt, kissed Drogo on the lips, and pressed the cushion down across his face.\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [692] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n TYRION\nThey have my son,” Tywin Lannister said.\n\n“They do, my lord.” The messenger’s voice was dulled by exhaustion. On the breast of his\ntorn surcoat, the brindled boar of Crakehall was half-obscured by dried blood.\n\nOne of your sons, Tyrion thought. He took a sip of wine and said not a word, thinking of\nJaime. When he lifted his arm, pain shot through his elbow, reminding him of his own\nbrief taste of battle. He loved his brother, but he would not have wanted to be with him\nin the Whispering Wood for all the gold in Casterly Rock.\n\nHis lord father’s assembled captains and bannermen had fallen very quiet as the courier\ntold his tale. The only sound was the crackle and hiss of the log burning in the hearth at\nthe end of the long, drafty common room.\n\nAfter the hardships of the long relentless drive south, the prospect of even a single night\nin an inn had cheered Tyrion mightily . . . though he rather wished it had not been this\ninn again, with all its memories. His father had set a grueling pace, and it had taken its\ntoll. Men wounded in the battle kept up as best they could or were abandoned to fend for\nthemselves. Every morning they left a few more by the roadside, men who went to sleep\nnever to wake. Every afternoon a few more collapsed along the way. And every evening a\nfew more deserted, stealing off into the dusk. Tyrion had been half-tempted to go with\nthem.\n\nHe had been upstairs, enjoying the comfort of a featherbed and the warmth of Shae’s\nbody beside him, when his squire had woken him to say that a rider had arrived with\ndire news of Riverrun. So it had all been for nothing. The rush south, the endless forced\nmarches, the bodies left beside the road . . . all for naught. Robb Stark had reached\nRiverrun days and days ago.\n\n“How could this happen?” Ser Harys Swyft moaned. “How? Even after the Whispering\nWood, you had Riverrun ringed in iron, surrounded by a great host . . . what madness\nmade Ser Jaime decide to split his men into three separate camps? Surely he knew how\nvulnerable that would leave them?”\n\nBetter than you, you chinless craven, Tyrion thought. Jaime might have lost Riverrun,\n"
## [693] "but it angered him to hear his brother slandered by the likes of Swyft, a shameless\nlickspittle whose greatest accomplishment was marrying his equally chinless daughter to\nSer Kevan, and thereby attaching himself to the Lannisters.\n\n“I would have done the same,” his uncle responded, a good deal more calmly than Tyrion\nmight have. “You have never seen Riverrun, Ser Harys, or you would know that Jaime\nhad little choice in the matter. The castle is situated at the end of the point of land where\nthe Tumblestone flows into the Red Fork of the Trident. The rivers form two sides of a\ntriangle, and when danger threatens, the Tullys open their sluice gates upstream to\ncreate a wide moat on the third side, turning Riverrun into an island. The walls rise\nsheer from the water, and from their towers the defenders have a commanding view of\nthe opposite shores for many leagues around. To cut off all the approaches, a besieger\nmust needs place one camp north of the Tumblestone, one south of the Red Fork, and a\nthird between the rivers, west of the moat. There is no other way, none.”\n\n“Ser Kevan speaks truly, my lords,” the courier said. “We’d built palisades of sharpened\nstakes around the camps, yet it was not enough, not with no warning and the rivers\ncutting us off from each other. They came down on the north camp first. No one was\nexpecting an attack. Marq Piper had been raiding our supply trains, but he had no more\nthan fifty men. Ser Jaime had gone out to deal with them the night before . . . well, with\nwhat we thought was them. We were told the Stark host was east of the Green Fork,\nmarching south . . . ”\n\n“And your outriders?” Ser Gregor Clegane’s face might have been hewn from rock. The\nfire in the hearth gave a somber orange cast to his skin and put deep shadows in the\nhollows of his eyes. “They saw nothing? They gave you no warning?”\n\nThe bloodstained messenger shook his head. “Our outriders had been vanishing. Marq\nPiper’s work, we thought. The ones who did come back had seen nothing.”\n\n“A man who sees nothing has no use for his eyes,” the Mountain declared. “Cut them out\nand give them to your next outrider. Tell him you hope that four eyes might see better\nthan two . . . and if not, the man after him will have six.”\n\nLord Tywin Lannister turned his face to study Ser Gregor. Tyrion saw a glimmer of gold\nas the light shone off his father’s pupils, but he could not have said whether the look was\none of approval or disgust. Lord Tywin was oft quiet in council, preferring to listen\nbefore he spoke, a habit Tyrion himself tried to emulate. Yet this silence was\nuncharacteristic even for him, and his wine was untouched.\n\n“You said they came at night,” Ser Kevan prompted.\n"
## [694] "The man gave a weary nod. “The Blackfish led the van, cutting down our sentries and\nclearing away the palisades for the main assault. By the time our men knew what was\nhappening, riders were pouring over the ditch banks and galloping through the camp\nwith swords and torches in hand. I was sleeping in the west camp, between the rivers.\nWhen we heard the fighting and saw the tents being fired, Lord Brax led us to the rafts\nand we tried to pole across, but the current pushed us downstream and the Tullys\nstarted flinging rocks at us with the catapults on their walls. I saw one raft smashed to\nkindling and three others overturned, men swept into the river and drowned . . . and\nthose who did make it across found the Starks waiting for them on the riverbanks.”\n\nSer Flement Brax wore a silver-and-purple tabard and the look of a man who cannot\ncomprehend what he has just heard. “My lord father—”\n\n“Sorry, my lord,” the messenger said. “Lord Brax was clad in plate-and-mail when his\nraft overturned. He was very gallant.”\n\nHe was a fool, Tyrion thought, swirling his cup and staring down into the winy depths.\nCrossing a river at night on a crude raft, wearing armor, with an enemy waiting on the\nother side—if that was gallantry, he would take cowardice every time. He wondered if\nLord Brax had felt especially gallant as the weight of his steel pulled him under the black\nwater.\n\n“The camp between the rivers was overrun as well,” the messenger was saying. “While\nwe were trying to cross, more Starks swept in from the west, two columns of armored\nhorse. I saw Lord Umber’s giant-in-chains and the Mallister eagle, but it was the boy\nwho led them, with a monstrous wolf running at his side. I wasn’t there to see, but it’s\nsaid the beast killed four men and ripped apart a dozen horses. Our spearmen formed up\na shieldwall and held against their first charge, but when the Tullys saw them engaged,\nthey opened the gates of Riverrun and Tytos Blackwood led a sortie across the\ndrawbridge and took them in the rear.”\n\n“Gods save us,” Lord Lefford swore.\n\n“Greatjon Umber fired the siege towers we were building, and Lord Blackwood found\nSer Edmure Tully in chains among the other captives, and made off with them all. Our\nsouth camp was under the command of Ser Forley Prester. He retreated in good order\nwhen he saw that the other camps were lost, with two thousand spears and as many\nbowmen, but the Tyroshi sellsword who led his freeriders struck his banners and went\nover to the foe.”\n\n“Curse the man.” His uncle Kevan sounded more angry than surprised. “I warned Jaime\nnot to trust that one. A man who fights for coin is loyal only to his purse.”\n"
## [695] "Lord Tywin wove his fingers together under his chin. Only his eyes moved as he listened.\nHis bristling golden side-whiskers framed a face so still it might have been a mask, but\nTyrion could see tiny beads of sweat dappling his father’s shaven head.\n\n“How could it happen?” Ser Harys Swyft wailed again. “Ser Jaime taken, the siege\nbroken . . . this is a catastrophe!”\n\nSer Addam Marbrand said, “I am sure we are all grateful to you for pointing out the\nobvious, Ser Harys. The question is, what shall we do about it?”\n\n“What can we do? Jaime’s host is all slaughtered or taken or put to flight, and the Starks\nand the Tullys sit squarely across our line of supply. We are cut off from the west! They\ncan march on Casterly Rock if they so choose, and what’s to stop them? My lords, we are\nbeaten. We must sue for peace.”\n\n“Peace?” Tyrion swirled his wine thoughtfully, took a deep draft, and hurled his empty\ncup to the floor, where it shattered into a thousand pieces. “There’s your peace, Ser\nHarys. My sweet nephew broke it for good and all when he decided to ornament the Red\nKeep with Lord Eddard’s head. You’ll have an easier time drinking wine from that cup\nthan you will convincing Robb Stark to make peace now. He’s winning . . . or hadn’t you\nnoticed?”\n\n“Two battles do not make a war,” Ser Addam insisted. “We are far from lost. I should\nwelcome the chance to try my own steel against this Stark boy.”\n\n“Perhaps they would consent to a truce, and allow us to trade our prisoners for theirs,”\noffered Lord Lefford.\n\n“Unless they trade three-for-one, we still come out light on those scales,” Tyrion said\nacidly. “And what are we to offer for my brother? Lord Eddard’s rotting head?”\n\n“I had heard that Queen Cersei has the Hand’s daughters,” Lefford said hopefully. “If we\ngive the lad his sisters back . . . ”\n\nSer Addam snorted disdainfully. “He would have to be an utter ass to trade Jaime\nLannister’s life for two girls.”\n\n“Then we must ransom Ser Jaime, whatever it costs,” Lord Lefford said.\n\nTyrion rolled his eyes. “If the Starks feel the need for gold, they can melt down Jaime’s\narmor.”\n"
## [696] "“if we ask for a truce, they will think us weak,” Ser Addarn argued. “We should march on\nthem at once.”\n\n“Surely our friends at court could be prevailed upon to join us with fresh troops,” said\nSer Harys. “And someone might return to Casterly Rock to raise a new host.”\n\nLord Tywin Lannister rose to his feet. “They have my son,” he said once more, in a voice\nthat cut through the babble like a sword through suet. “Leave me. All of you.”\n\nEver the soul of obedience, Tyrion rose to depart with the rest, but his father gave him a\nlook. “Not you, Tyrion. Remain. And you as well, Kevan. The rest of you, out.”\n\nTyrion eased himself back onto the bench, startled into speechlessness. Ser Kevan\ncrossed the room to the wine casks. “Uncle,” Tyrion called, “if you would be so kind—”\n\n“Here.” His father offered him his cup, the wine untouched.\n\nNow Tyrion truly was nonplussed. He drank.\n\nLord Tywin seated himself. “You have the right of it about Stark. Alive, we might have\nused Lord Eddard to forge a peace with Winterfell and Riverrun, a peace that would\nhave given us the time we need to deal with Robert’s brothers. Dead . . . ” His hand\ncurled into a fist. “Madness. Rank madness.”\n\n“Joff’s only a boy,” Tyrion pointed out. “At his age, I committed a few follies of my own.”\n\nHis father gave him a sharp look. “I suppose we ought to be grateful that he has not yet\nmarried a whore.”\n\nTyrion sipped at his wine, wondering how Lord Tywin would look if he flung the cup in\nhis face.\n\n“Our position is worse than you know,” his father went on. “It would seem we have a\nnew king.”\n\nSer Kevan looked poleaxed. “A new—who? What have they done to Joffrey?”\n\nThe faintest flicker of distaste played across Lord Tywin’s thin lips. “Nothing . . . yet. My\ngrandson still sits the Iron Throne, but the eunuch has heard whispers from the south.\nRenly Baratheon wed Margaery Tyrell at Highgarden this fortnight past, and now he has\nclaimed the crown. The bride’s father and brothers have bent the knee and sworn him\n"
## [697] "their swords.”\n\n“Those are grave tidings.” When Ser Kevan frowned, the furrows in his brow grew deep\nas canyons.\n\n“My daughter commands us to ride for King’s Landing at once, to defend the Red Keep\nagainst King Renly and the Knight of Flowers.” His mouth tightened. “Commands us,\nmind you. In the name of the king and council.”\n\n“How is King Joffrey taking the news?” Tyrion asked with a certain black amusement.\n\n“Cersei has not seen fit to tell him yet,” Lord Tywin said. “She fears he might insist on\nmarching against Renly himself.”\n\n“With what army?” Tyrion asked. “You don’t plan to give him this one, I hope?”\n\n“He talks of leading the City Watch,” Lord Tywin said.\n\n“If he takes the Watch, he’ll leave the city undefended,” Ser Kevan said. “And with Lord\nStannis on Dragonstone . . . ”\n\n“Yes.” Lord Tywin looked down at his son. “I had thought you were the one made for\nmotley, Tyrion, but it would appear that I was wrong.”\n\n“Why, Father,” said Tyrion, “that almost sounds like praise.” He leaned forward intently.\n“What of Stannis? He’s the elder, not Renly. How does he feel about his brother’s claim?”\n\nHis father frowned. “I have felt from the beginning that Stannis was a greater danger\nthan all the others combined. Yet he does nothing. Oh, Varys hears his whispers. Stannis\nis building ships, Stannis is hiring sellswords, Stannis is bringing a shadowbinder from\nAsshai. What does it mean? Is any of it true?” He gave an irritated shrug. “Kevan, bring\nus the map.”\n\nSer Kevan did as he was bid. Lord Tywin unrolled the leather, smoothing it flat. “Jaime\nhas left us in a bad way. Roose Bolton and the remnants of his host are north of us. Our\nenemies hold the Twins and Moat Cailin. Robb Stark sits to the west, so we cannot\nretreat to Lannisport and the Rock unless we choose to give battle. Jaime is taken, and\nhis army for all purposes has ceased to exist. Thoros of Myr and Beric Dondarrion\ncontinue to plague our foraging parties. To our east we have the Arryns, Stannis\nBaratheon sits on Dragonstone, and in the south Highgarden and Storm’s End are\ncalling their banners.”\n"
## [698] "Tyrion smiled crookedly. “Take heart, Father. At least Rhaegar Targaryen is still dead.”\n\n“I had hoped you might have more to offer us than japes, Tyrion,” Lord Tywin Lannister\nsaid.\n\nSer Kevan frowned over the map, forehead creasing. “Robb Stark will have Edmure Tully\nand the lords of the Trident with him now. Their combined power may exceed our own.\nAnd with Roose Bolton behind us . . . Tywin, if we remain here, I fear we might be\ncaught between three armies.”\n\n“I have no intention of remaining here. We must finish our business with young Lord\nStark before Renly Baratheon can march from Highgarden. Bolton does not concern me.\nHe is a wary man, and we made him warier on the Green Fork. He will be slow to give\npursuit. So . . . on the morrow, we make for Harrenhal. Kevan, I want Ser Addam’s\noutriders to screen our movements. Give him as many men as he requires, and send\nthem out in groups of four. I will have no vanishings.”\n\n“As you say, my lord, but . . . why Harrenhal? That is a grim, unlucky place. Some call it\ncursed.”\n\n“Let them,” Lord Tywin said. “Unleash Ser Gregor and send him before us with his\nreavers. Send forth Vargo Hoat and his freeriders as well, and Ser Amory Lorch. Each is\nto have three hundred horse. Tell them I want to see the riverlands afire from the Gods\nEye to the Red Fork.”\n\n“They will burn, my lord,” Ser Kevan said, rising. “I shall give the commands.” He bowed\nand made for the door.\n\nWhen they were alone, Lord Tywin glanced at Tyrion. “Your savages might relish a bit of\nrapine. Tell them they may ride with Vargo Hoat and plunder as they like—goods, stock,\nwomen, they may take what they want and burn the rest.”\n\n“Telling Shagga and Timett how to pillage is like telling a rooster how to crow,” Tyrion\ncommented, “but I should prefer to keep them with me.” Uncouth and unruly they might\nbe, yet the wildlings were his, and he trusted them more than any of his father’s men. He\nwas not about to hand them over.\n\n“Then you had best learn to control them. I will not have the city plundered.”\n\n“The city?” Tyrion was lost. “What city would that be?”\n\n“King’s Landing. I am sending you to court.”\n"
## [699] "It was the last thing Tyrion Lannister would ever have anticipated.\n\nHe reached for his wine, and considered for a moment as he sipped. “And what am I to\ndo there?”\n\n“Rule,” his father said curtly\n\nTyrion hooted with laughter. “My sweet sister might have a word or two to say about\nthat!”\n\n“Let her say what she likes. Her son needs to be taken in hand before he ruins us all. I\nblame those jackanapes on the council—our friend Petyr, the venerable Grand Maester,\nand that cockless wonder Lord Varys. What sort of counsel are they giving Joffrey when\nhe lurches from one folly to the next? Whose notion was it to make this Janos Slynt a\nlord? The man’s father was a butcher, and they grant him Harrenhal. Harrenhal, that\nwas the seat of kings! Not that he will ever set foot inside it, if I have a say. I am told he\ntook a bloody spear for his sigil. A bloody cleaver would have been my choice.” His father\nhad not raised his voice, yet Tyrion could see the anger in the gold of his eyes. “And\ndismissing Selmy, where was the sense in that? Yes, the man was old, but the name of\nBarristan the Bold still has meaning in the realm. He lent honor to any man he served.\nCan anyone say the same of the Hound? You feed your dog bones under the table, you do\nnot seat him beside you on the high bench.” He pointed a finger at Tyrion’s face. “If\nCersei cannot curb the boy, you must. And if these councillors are playing us false . . . ”\n\nTyrion knew. “Spikes,” he sighed. “Heads. Walls.”\n\n“I see you have taken a few lessons from me.”\n\n“More than you know, Father,” Tyrion answered quietly. He finished his wine and set\nthe cup aside, thoughtful. A part of him was more pleased than he cared to admit.\nAnother part was remembering the battle upriver, and wondering if he was being sent to\nhold the left again. “Why me?” he asked, cocking his head to one side. “Why not my\nuncle? Why not Ser Addam or Ser Flement or Lord Serrett? Why not a . . . bigger man?”\n\nLord Tywin rose abruptly. “You are my son.”\n\nThat was when he knew. You have given him up for lost, he thought. You bloody\nbastard, you think Jaime’s good as dead, so I’m all you have left. Tyrion wanted to slap\nhim, to spit in his face, to draw his dagger and cut the heart out of him and see if it was\nmade of old hard gold, the way the smallfolks said. Yet he sat there, silent and still.\n"
## [700] "The shards of the broken cup crunched beneath his father’s heels as Lord Tywin crossed\nthe room. “One last thing,” he said at the door. “You will not take the whore to court.”\n\nTyrion sat alone in the common room for a long while after his father was gone. Finally\nhe climbed the steps to his cozy garret beneath the bell tower. The ceiling was low, but\nthat was scarcely a drawback for a dwarf. From the window, he could see the gibbet his\nfather had erected in the yard. The innkeep’s body turned slowly on its rope whenever\nthe night wind gusted. Her flesh had grown as thin and ragged as Lannister hopes.\n\nShae murmured sleepily and rolled toward him when he sat on the edge of the\nfeatherbed. He slid his hand under the blanket and cupped a soft breast, and her eyes\nopened. “M’lord,” she said with a drowsy smile.\n\nWhen he felt her nipple stiffen, Tyrion kissed her. “I have a mind to take you to King’s\nLanding, sweetling,” he whispered.\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [701] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n JON\nThe mare whickered softly as Jon Snow tightened the cinch. “Easy, sweet lady,” he said\nin a soft voice, quieting her with a touch. Wind whispered through the stable, a cold dead\nbreath on his face, but Jon paid it no mind. He strapped his roll to the saddle, his\nscarred fingers stiff and clumsy. “Ghost,” he called softly, “to me.” And the wolf was\nthere, eyes like embers.\n\n“Jon, please. You must not do this.”\n\nHe mounted, the reins in his hand, and wheeled the horse around to face the night.\nSamwell Tarly stood in the stable door, a full moon peering over his shoulder. He threw\na giant’s shadow, immense and black. “Get out of my way, Sam.”\n\n“Jon, you can’t,” Sam said. “I won’t let you.”\n\n“I would sooner not hurt you,” Jon told him. “Move aside, Sam, or I’ll ride you down.”\n\n“You won’t. You have to listen to me. Please . . . ”\n\nJon put his spurs to horseflesh, and the mare bolted for the door. For an instant Sam\nstood his ground, his face as round and pale as the moon behind him, his mouth a\nwidening O of surprise. At the last moment, when they were almost on him, he jumped\naside as Jon had known he would, stumbled, and fell. The mare leapt over him, out into\nthe night.\n\nJon raised the hood of his heavy cloak and gave the horse her head. Castle Black was\nsilent and still as he rode out, with Ghost racing at his side. Men watched from the Wall\nbehind him, he knew, but their eyes were turned north, not south. No one would see him\ngo, no one but Sam Tarly, struggling back to his feet in the dust of the old stables. He\nhoped Sam hadn’t hurt himself, falling like that. He was so heavy and so ungainly, it\nwould be just like him to break a wrist or twist his ankle getting out of the way. “I\nwarned him,” Jon said aloud. “It was nothing to do with him, anyway.” He flexed his\nburned hand as he rode, opening and closing the scarred fingers. They still pained him,\nbut it felt good to have the wrappings off.\n\nMoonlight silvered the hills as he followed the twisting ribbon of the kingsroad. He\n"
## [702] "needed to get as far from the Wall as he could before they realized he was gone. On the\nmorrow he would leave the road and strike out overland through field and bush and\nstream to throw off pursuit, but for the moment speed was more important than\ndeception. It was not as though they would not guess where he was going.\n\nThe Old Bear was accustomed to rise at first light, so Jon had until dawn to put as many\nleagues as he could between him and the Wall . . . if Sam Tarly did not betray him. The\nfat boy was dutiful and easily frightened, but he loved Jon like a brother. If questioned,\nSam would doubtless tell them the truth, but Jon could not imagine him braving the\nguards in front of the King’s Tower to wake Mormont from sleep.\n\nWhen Jon did not appear to fetch the Old Bear’s breakfast from the kitchen, they’d look\nin his cell and find Longclaw on the bed. It had been hard to abandon it, but Jon was not\nso lost to honor as to take it with him. Even Jorah Mormont had not done that, when he\nfled in disgrace. Doubtless Lord Mormont would find someone more worthy of the\nblade. Jon felt bad when he thought of the old man. He knew his desertion would be salt\nin the still-raw wound of his son’s disgrace. That seemed a poor way to repay him for his\ntrust, but it couldn’t be helped. No matter what he did, Jon felt as though he were\nbetraying someone.\n\nEven now, he did not know if he was doing the honorable thing. The southron had it\neasier. They had their septons to talk to, someone to tell them the gods’ will and help\nsort out right from wrong. But the Starks worshiped the old gods, the nameless gods,\nand if the heart trees heard, they did not speak.\n\nWhen the last lights of Castle Black vanished behind him, Jon slowed his mare to a walk.\nHe had a long journey ahead and only the one horse to see him through. There were\nholdfasts and farming villages along the road south where he might be able to trade the\nmare for a fresh mount when he needed one, but not if she were injured or blown.\n\nHe would need to find new clothes soon; most like, he’d need to steal them. He was clad\nin black from head to heel; high leather riding boots, roughspun breeches and tunic,\nsleeveless leather jerkin, and heavy wool cloak. His longsword and dagger were sheathed\nin black moleskin, and the hauberk and coif in his saddlebag were black ringmail. Any\nbit of it could mean his death if he were taken. A stranger wearing black was viewed with\ncold suspicion in every village and holdfast north of the Neck, and men would soon be\nwatching for him. Once Maester Aemon’s ravens took flight, Jon knew he would find no\nsafe haven. Not even at Winterfell. Bran might want to let him in, but Maester Luwin\nhad better sense. He would bar the gates and send Jon away, as he should. Better not to\ncall there at all.\n\nYet he saw the castle clear in his mind’s eye, as if he had left it only yesterday; the\n"
## [703] "towering granite walls, the Great Hall with its smells of smoke and dog and roasting\nmeat, his father’s solar, the turret room where he had slept. Part of him wanted nothing\nso much as to hear Bran laugh again, to sup on one of Gage’s beef-and-bacon pies, to\nlisten to Old Nan tell her tales of the children of the forest and Florian the Fool.\n\nBut he had not left the Wall for that; he had left because he was after all his father’s son,\nand Robb’s brother. The gift of a sword, even a sword as fine as Longclaw, did not make\nhim a Mormont. Nor was he Aemon Targaryen. Three times the old man had chosen,\nand three times he had chosen honor, but that was him. Even now, Jon could not decide\nwhether the maester had stayed because he was weak and craven, or because he was\nstrong and true. Yet he understood what the old man had meant, about the pain of\nchoosing; he understood that all too well.\n\nTyrion Lannister had claimed that most men would rather deny a hard truth than face it,\nbut Jon was done with denials. He was who he was; Jon Snow, bastard and oathbreaker,\nmotherless, friendless, and damned. For the rest of his life—however long that might be\n—he would be condemned to be an outsider, the silent man standing in the shadows who\ndares not speak his true name. Wherever he might go throughout the Seven Kingdoms,\nhe would need to live a lie, lest every man’s hand be raised against him. But it made no\nmatter, so long as he lived long enough to take his place by his brother’s side and help\navenge his father.\n\nHe remembered Robb as he had last seen him, standing in the yard with snow melting in\nhis auburn hair. Jon would have to come to him in secret, disguised. He tried to imagine\nthe look on Robb’s face when he revealed himself. His brother would shake his head and\nsmile, and he’d say . . . he’d say . . .\n\nHe could not see the smile. Hard as he tried, he could not see it. He found himself\nthinking of the deserter his father had beheaded the day they’d found the direwolves.\n“You said the words,” Lord Eddard had told him. “You took a vow, before your brothers,\nbefore the old gods and the new.” Desmond and Fat Tom had dragged the man to the\nstump. Bran’s eyes had been wide as saucers, and Jon had to remind him to keep his\npony in hand. He remembered the look on Father’s face when Theon Greyjoy brought\nforth Ice, the spray of blood on the snow, the way Theon had kicked the head when it\ncame rolling at his feet.\n\nHe wondered what Lord Eddard might have done if the deserter had been his brother\nBenjen instead of that ragged stranger. Would it have been any different? It must,\nsurely, surely . . . and Robb would welcome him, for a certainty. He had to, or else . . .\n\nIt did not bear thinking about. Pain throbbed, deep in his fingers, as he clutched the\nreins. Jon put his heels into his horse and broke into a gallop, racing down the\n"
## [704] "kingsroad, as if to outrun his doubts. Jon was not afraid of death, but he did not want to\ndie like that, trussed and bound and beheaded like a common brigand. If he must perish,\nlet it be with a sword in his hand, fighting his father’s killers. He was no true Stark, had\nnever been one . . . but he could die like one. Let them say that Eddard Stark had\nfathered four sons, not three.\n\nGhost kept pace with them for almost half a mile, red tongue lolling from his mouth.\nMan and horse alike lowered their heads as he asked the mare for more speed. The wolf\nslowed, stopped, watching, his eyes glowing red in the moonlight. He vanished behind,\nbut Jon knew he would follow, at his own pace.\n\nScattered lights flickered through the trees ahead of him, on both sides of the road:\nMole’s Town. A dog barked as he rode through, and he heard a mule’s raucous haw from\nthe stable, but otherwise the village was still. Here and there the glow of hearth fires\nshone through shuttered windows, leaking between wooden slats, but only a few.\n\nMole’s Town was bigger than it seemed, but three quarters of it was under the ground, in\ndeep warm cellars connected by a maze of tunnels. Even the whorehouse was down\nthere, nothing on the surface but a wooden shack no bigger than a privy, with a red\nlantern hung over the door. On the Wall, he’d heard men call the whores “buried\ntreasures.” He wondered whether any of his brothers in black were down there tonight,\nmining. That was oathbreaking too, yet no one seemed to care.\n\nNot until he was well beyond the village did Jon slow again. By then both he and the\nmare were damp with sweat. He dismounted, shivering, his burned hand aching. A bank\nof melting snow lay under the trees, bright in the moonlight, water trickling off to form\nsmall shallow pools. Jon squatted and brought his hands together, cupping the runoff\nbetween his fingers. The snowmelt was icy cold. He drank, and splashed some on his\nface, until his cheeks tingled. His fingers were throbbing worse than they had in days,\nand his head was pounding too. I am doing the right thing, he told himself, so why do I\nfeel so bad?\n\nThe horse was well lathered, so Jon took the lead and walked her for a while. The road\nwas scarcely wide enough for two riders to pass abreast, its surface cut by tiny streams\nand littered with stone. That run had been truly stupid, an invitation to a broken neck.\nJon wondered what had gotten into him. Was he in such a great rush to die?\n\nOff in the trees, the distant scream of some frightened animal made him look up. His\nmare whinnied nervously. Had his wolf found some prey? He cupped his hands around\nhis mouth. “Ghost!” he shouted. “Ghost, to me.” The only answer was a rush of wings\nbehind him as an owl took flight.\n"
## [705] "Frowning, Jon continued on his way. He led the mare for half an hour, until she was dry.\nGhost did not appear. Jon wanted to mount up and ride again, but he was concerned\nabout his missing wolf. “Ghost,” he called again. “Where are you? To me! Ghost!”\nNothing in these woods could trouble a direwolf, even a half-grown direwolf,\nunless . . . no, Ghost was too smart to attack a bear, and if there was a wolf pack\nanywhere close Jon would have surely heard them howling.\n\nHe should eat, he decided. Food would settle his stomach and give Ghost the chance to\ncatch up. There was no danger yet; Castle Black still slept. In his saddlebag, he found a\nbiscuit, a piece of cheese, and a small withered brown apple. He’d brought salt beef as\nwell, and a rasher of bacon he’d filched from the kitchens, but he would save the meat\nfor the morrow. After it was gone he’d need to hunt, and that would slow him.\n\nJon sat under the trees and ate his biscuit and cheese while his mare grazed along the\nkingsroad. He kept the apple for last. It had gone a little soft, but the flesh was still tart\nand juicy. He was down to the core when he heard the sounds: horses, and from the\nnorth. Quickly Jon leapt up and strode to his mare. Could he outrun them? No, they\nwere too close, they’d hear him for a certainty, and if they were from Castle Black . . .\n\nHe led the mare off the road, behind a thick stand of grey-green sentinels. “Ouiet now,”\nhe said in a hushed voice, crouching down to peer through the branches. If the gods were\nkind, the riders would pass by. Likely as not, they were only smallfolk from Mole’s Town,\nfarmers on their way to their fields, although what they were doing out in the middle of\nthe night . . .\n\nHe listened to the sound of hooves growing steadily louder as they trotted briskly down\nthe kingsroad. From the sound, there were five or six of them at the least. Their voices\ndrifted through the trees.\n\n“ . . . certain he came this way?”\n\n“We can’t be certain.”\n\n“He could have ridden east, for all you know. Or left the road to cut through the woods.\nThat’s what I’d do.”\n\n“In the dark? Stupid. If you didn’t fall off your horse and break your neck, you’d get lost\nand wind up back at the Wall when the sun came up.”\n\n“I would not.” Grenn sounded peeved. “I’d just ride south, you can tell south by the\nstars.”\n"
## [706] "“What if the sky was cloudy?” Pyp asked.\n\n“Then I wouldn’t go.”\n\nAnother voice broke in. “You know where I’d be if it was me? I’d be in Mole’s Town,\ndigging for buried treasure.” Toad’s shrill laughter boomed through the trees. Jon’s mare\nsnorted.\n\n“Keep quiet, all of you,” Haider said. “I thought I heard something.”\n\n“Where? I didn’t hear anything.” The horses stopped.\n\n“You can’t hear yourself fart.”\n\n“I can too,” Grenn insisted.\n\n“Quiet!”\n\nThey all fell silent, listening. Jon found himself holding his breath. Sam, he thought. He\nhadn’t gone to the Old Bear, but he hadn’t gone to bed either, he’d woken the other boys.\nDamn them all. Come dawn, if they were not in their beds, they’d be named deserters\ntoo. What did they think they were doing?\n\nThe hushed silence seemed to stretch on and on. From where Jon crouched, he could see\nthe legs of their horses through the branches. Finally Pyp spoke up. “What did you hear?”\n\n“I don’t know,” Haider admitted. “A sound, I thought it might have been a horse but . . . ”\n\n“There’s nothing here.”\n\nOut of the corner of his eye, Jon glimpsed a pale shape moving through the trees. Leaves\nrustled, and Ghost came bounding out of the shadows, so suddenly that Jon’s mare\nstarted and gave a whinny. “There!” Halder shouted.\n\n“I heard it too!”\n\n“Traitor,” Jon told the direwolf as he swung up into the saddle. He turned the mare’s\nhead to slide off through the trees, but they were on him before he had gone ten feet.\n\n“Jon!” Pyp shouted after him.\n"
## [707] "“Pull up,” Grenn said. “You can’t outrun us all.”\n\nJon wheeled around to face them, drawing his sword. “Get back. I don’t wish to hurt you,\nbut I will if I have to.”\n\n“One against seven?” Halder gave a signal. The boys spread out, surrounding him.\n\n“What do you want with me?” Jon demanded.\n\n“We want to take you back where you belong,” Pyp said.\n\n“I belong with my brother.”\n\n“We’re your brothers now,” Grenn said.\n\n“They’ll cut off your head if they catch you, you know,” Toad put in with a nervous laugh.\n“This is so stupid, it’s like something the Aurochs would do.”\n\n“I would not,” Grenn said. “I’m no oathbreaker. I said the words and I meant them.”\n\n“So did I,” Jon told them. “Don’t you understand? They murdered my father. It’s war,\nmy brother Robb is fighting in the riverlands—”\n\n“We know,” said Pyp solemnly. “Sam told us everything.”\n\n“We’re sorry about your father,” Grenn said, “but it doesn’t matter. Once you say the\nwords, you can’t leave, no matter what.”\n\n“I have to,” Jon said fervently.\n\n“You said the words,” Pyp reminded him. “Now my watch begins, you said it. It shall\nnot end until my death.”\n\n“I shall live and die at my post,” Grenn added, nodding.\n\n“You don’t have to tell me the words, I know them as well as you do.” He was angry now.\nWhy couldn’t they let him go in peace? They were only making it harder.\n\n“I am the sword in the darkness,” Halder intoned.\n\n“The watcher on the walls,” piped Toad.\n"
## [708] "Jon cursed them all to their faces. They took no notice. Pyp spurred his horse closer,\nreciting, “I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the\nhorn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men.”\n\n“Stay back,” Jon warned him, brandishing his sword. “I mean it, Pyp.” They weren’t even\nwearing armor, he could cut them to pieces if he had to.\n\nMatthar had circled behind him. He joined the chorus. “I pledge my life and honor to\nthe Night’s Watch.”\n\nJon kicked his mare, spinning her in a circle. The boys were all around him now, closing\nfrom every side.\n\n“For this night . . . ” Halder trotted in from the left.\n\n“ . . . and all the nights to come,” finished Pyp. He reached over for Jon’s reins. “So here\nare your choices. Kill me, or come back with me.”\n\nJon lifted his sword . . . and lowered it, helpless. “Damn you,” he said. “Damn you all.”\n\n“Do we have to bind your hands, or will you give us your word you’ll ride back peaceful?”\nasked Halder.\n\n“I won’t run, if that’s what you mean.” Ghost moved out from under the trees and Jon\nglared at him. “Small help you were,” he said. The deep red eyes looked at him\nknowingly.\n\n“We had best hurry,” Pyp said. “If we’re not back before first light, the Old Bear will have\nall our heads.”\n\nOf the ride back, Jon Snow remembered little. It seemed shorter than the journey south,\nperhaps because his mind was elsewhere. Pyp set the pace, galloping, walking, trotting,\nand then breaking into another gallop. Mole’s Town came and went, the red lantern over\nthe brothel long extinguished. They made good time. Dawn was still an hour off when\nJon glimpsed the towers of Castle Black ahead of them, dark against the pale immensity\nof the Wall. It did not seem like home this time.\n\nThey could take him back, Jon told himself, but they could not make him stay. The war\nwould not end on the morrow, or the day after, and his friends could not watch him day\nand night. He would bide his time, make them think he was content to remain\nhere . . . and then, when they had grown lax, he would be off again. Next time he would\n"
## [709] "avoid the kingsroad. He could follow the Wall east, perhaps all the way to the sea, a\nlonger route but a safer one. Or even west, to the mountains, and then south over the\nhigh passes. That was the wildling’s way, hard and perilous, but at least no one wouid\nfollow him. He wouldn’t stray within a hundred leagues of Winterfell or the kingsroad.\n\nSamwell Tarly awaited them in the old stables, slumped on the ground against a bale of\nhay, too anxious to sleep. He rose and brushed himself off. “I . . . I’m glad they found\nyou, Jon.”\n\n“I’m not,” Jon said, dismounting.\n\nPyp hopped off his horse and looked at the lightening sky with disgust. “Give us a hand\nbedding down the horses, Sam,” the small boy said. “We have a long day before us, and\nno sleep to face it on, thanks to Lord Snow.”\n\nWhen day broke, Jon walked to the kitchens as he did every dawn. Three-Finger Hobb\nsaid nothing as he gave him the Old Bear’s breakfast. Today it was three brown eggs\nboiled hard, with fried bread and ham steak and a bowl of wrinkled plums. Jon carried\nthe food back to the King’s Tower. He found Mormont at the window seat, writing. His\nraven was walking back and forth across his shoulders, muttering, “Corn, corn, corn.”\nThe bird shrieked when Jon entered. “Put the food on the table,” the Old Bear said,\nglancing up. “I’ll have some beer.”\n\nJon opened a shuttered window, took the flagon of beer off the outside ledge, and filled a\nhorn. Hobb had given him a lemon, still cold from the Wall. Jon crushed it in his fist.\nThe juice trickled through his fingers. Mormont drank lemon in his beer every day, and\nclaimed that was why he still had his own teeth.\n\n“Doubtless you loved your father,” Mormont said when Jon brought him his horn. “The\nthings we love destroy us every time, lad. Remember when I told you that?”\n\n“I remember,” Jon said sullenly. He did not care to talk of his father’s death, not even to\nMormont.\n\n“See that you never forget it. The hard truths are the ones to hold tight. Fetch me my\nplate. Is it ham again? So be it. You look weary. Was your moonlight ride so tiring?”\n\nJon’s throat was dry. “You know?”\n\n“Know,” the raven echoed from Mormont’s shoulder. “Know.”\n\nThe Old Bear snorted. “Do you think they chose me Lord Commander of the Night’s\n"
## [710] "Watch because I’m dumb as a stump, Snow? Aemon told me you’d go. I told him you’d\nbe back. I know my men . . . and my boys too. Honor set you on the kingsroad . . . and\nhonor brought you back.”\n\n“My friends brought me back,” Jon said.\n\n“Did I say it was your honor?” Mormont inspected his plate.\n\n“They killed my father. Did you expect me to do nothing?”\n\n“If truth be told, we expected you to do just as you did.” Mormont tried a plum, spit out\nthe pit. “I ordered a watch kept over you., You were seen leaving. If your brothers had\nnot fetched you back, you would have been taken along the way, and not by friends.\nUnless you have a horse with wings like a raven. Do you?”\n\n“No.” Jon felt like a fool.\n\n“Pity, we could use a horse like that.”\n\nJon stood tall. He told himself that he would die well; that much he could do, at the\nleast. “I know the penalty for desertion, my lord. I’m not afraid to die.”\n\n“Die!” the raven cried.\n\n“Nor live, I hope,” Mormont said, cutting his ham with a dagger and feeding a bite to the\nbird. “You have not deserted—yet. Here you stand. If we beheaded every boy who rode to\nMole’s Town in the night, only ghosts would guard the Wall. Yet maybe you mean to flee\nagain on the morrow, or a fortnight from now. Is that it? Is that your hope, boy?”\n\nJon kept silent.\n\n“I thought so.” Mormont peeled the shell off a boiled egg. “Your father is dead, lad. Do\nyou think you can bring him back?”\n\n“No,” he answered, sullen.\n\n“Good,” Mormont said. “We’ve seen the dead come back, you and me, and it’s not\nsomething I care to see again.” He ate the egg in two bites and flicked a bit of shell out\nfrom between his teeth. “Your brother is in the field with all the power of the north\nbehind him. Any one of his lords bannermen commands more swords than you’ll find in\nall the Night’s Watch. Why do you imagine that they need your help? Are you such a\n"
## [711] "mighty warrior, or do you carry a grumkin in your pocket to magic up your sword?”\n\nJon had no answer for him. The raven was pecking at an egg, breaking the shell. Pushing\nhis beak through the hole, he pulled out morsels of white and yoke.\n\nThe Old Bear sighed. “You are not the only one touched by this war. Like as not, my\nsister is marching in your brother’s host, her and those daughters of hers, dressed in\nmen’s mail. Maege is a hoary old snark, stubborn, short-tempered, and willful. Truth be\ntold, I can hardly stand to be around the wretched woman, but that does not mean my\nlove for her is any less than the love you bear your half sisters.” Frowning, Mormont\ntook his last egg and squeezed it in his fist until the shell crunched. “Or perhaps it does.\nBe that as it may, I’d still grieve if she were slain, yet you don’t see me running off. I said\nthe words, just as you did. My place is here . . . where is yours, boy?”\n\nI have no place, Jon wanted to say, I’m a bastard, I have no rights, no name, no mother,\nand now not even a father. The words would not come. “I don’t know.”\n\n“I do,” said Lord Commander Mormont. “The cold winds are rising, Snow. Beyond the\nWall, the shadows lengthen. Cotter Pyke writes of vast herds of elk, streaming south and\neast toward the sea, and mammoths as well. He says one of his men discovered huge,\nmisshapen footprints not three leagues from Eastwatch. Rangers from the Shadow\nTower have found whole villages abandoned, and at night Ser Denys says they see fires\nin the mountains, huge blazes that burn from dusk till dawn. Quorin Halfhand took a\ncaptive in the depths of the Gorge, and the man swears that Mance Rayder is massing all\nhis people in some new, secret stronghold he’s found, to what end the gods only know.\nDo you think your uncle Benjen was the only ranger we’ve lost this past year?”\n\n“Ben Jen,” the raven squawked, bobbing its head, bits of egg dribbling from its beak.\n“Ben Jen. Ben Jen.”\n\n“No,” Jon said. There had been others. Too many.\n\n“Do you think your brother’s war is more important than ours?” the old man barked.\n\nJon chewed his lip. The raven flapped its wings at him. “War, war, war, war,” it sang.\n\n“It’s not,” Mormont told him. “Gods save us, boy, you’re not blind and you’re not stupid.\nWhen dead men come hunting in the night, do you think it matters who sits the Iron\nThrone?”\n\n“No.” Jon had not thought of it that way.\n"
## [712] "“Your lord father sent you to us, Jon. Why, who can say?”\n\n“Why? Why? Why?” the raven called.\n\n“All I know is that the blood of the First Men flows in the veins of the Starks. The First\nMen built the Wall, and it’s said they remember things otherwise forgotten. And that\nbeast of yours . . . he led us to the wights, warned you of the dead man on the steps. Ser\nJaremy would doubtless call that happenstance, yet Ser Jaremy is dead and I’m not.”\nLord Mormont stabbed a chunk of ham with the point of his dagger. “I think you were\nmeant to be here, and I want you and that wolf of yours with us when we go beyond the\nWall.”\n\nHis words sent a chill of excitement down Jon’s back. “Beyond the Wall?”\n\n“You heard me. I mean to find Ben Stark, alive or dead.” He chewed and swallowed. “I\nwill not sit here meekly and wait for the snows and the ice winds. We must know what is\nhappening. This time the Night’s Watch will ride in force, against the King-beyond-the-\nWall, the Others, and anything else that may be out there. I mean to command them\nmyself.” He pointed his dagger at Jon’s chest. “By custom, the Lord Commander’s\nsteward is his squire as well . . . but I do not care to wake every dawn wondering if you’ve\nrun off again. So I will have an answer from you, Lord Snow, and I will have it now. Are\nyou a brother of the Night’s Watch . . . or only a bastard boy who wants to play at war?”\n\nJon Snow straightened himself and took a long deep breath. Forgive me, Father. Robb,\nArya, Bran . . . forgive me, I cannot help you. He has the truth of it. This is my place. “I\nam . . . yours, my lord. Your man. I swear it. I will not run again.”\n\nThe Old Bear snorted. “Good. Now go put on your sword.”\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [713] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n CATELYN\nIt seemed a thousand years ago that Catelyn Stark had carried her infant son out of\nRiverrun, crossing the Tumblestone in a small boat to begin their journey north to\nWinterfell. And it was across the Tumblestone that they came home now, though the boy\nwore plate and mail in place of swaddling clothes.\n\nRobb sat in the bow with Grey Wind, his hand resting on his direwolf s head as the\nrowers pulled at their oars. Theon Greyjoy was with him. Her uncle Brynden would\ncome behind in the second boat, with the Greatjon and Lord Karstark.\n\nCatelyn took a place toward the stern. They shot down the Tumblestone, letting the\nstrong current push them past the looming Wheel Tower. The splash and rumble of the\ngreat waterwheel within was a sound from her girlhood that brought a sad smile to\nCatelyn’s face. From the sandstone walls of the castle, soldiers and servants shouted\ndown her name, and Robb’s, and “Winterfell!” From every rampart waved the banner of\nHouse Tully: a leaping trout, silver, against a rippling blue-and-red field. It was a\nstirring sight, yet it did not lift her heart. She wondered if indeed her heart would ever\nlift again. Oh, Ned . . .\n\nBelow the Wheel Tower, they made a wide turn and knifed through the churning water.\nThe men put their backs into it. The wide arch of the Water Gate came into view, and she\nheard the creak of heavy chains as the great iron portcullis was winched upward. It rose\nslowly as they approached, and Catelyn saw that the lower half of it was red with rust.\nThe bottom foot dripped brown mud on them as they passed underneath, the barbed\nspikes mere inches above their heads. Catelyn gazed up at the bars and wondered how\ndeep the rust went and how well the portcullis would stand up to a ram and whether it\nought to be replaced. Thoughts like that were seldom far from her mind these days.\n\nThey passed beneath the arch and under the walls, moving from sunlight to shadow and\nback into sunlight. Boats large and small were tied up all around them, secured to iron\nrings set in the stone. Her father’s guards waited on the water stair with her brother. Ser\nEdmure Tully was a stocky young man with a shaggy head of auburn hair and a fiery\nbeard. His breastplate was scratched and dented from battle, his blue-and-red cloak\nstained by blood and smoke. At his side stood the Lord Tytos Blackwood, a hard pike of a\nman with close-cropped salt-and-pepper whiskers and a hook nose. His bright yellow\narmor was inlaid with jet in elaborate vine-and-leaf patterns, and a cloak sewn from\n"
## [714] "raven feathers draped his thin shoulders. It had been Lord Tytos who led the sortie that\nplucked her brother from the Lannister camp.\n\n“Bring them in,” Ser Edmure commanded. Three men scrambled down the stairs knee-\ndeep in the water and pulled the boat close with long hooks. When Grey Wind bounded\nout, one of them dropped his pole and lurched back, stumbling and sitting down\nabruptly in the river. The others laughed, and the man got a sheepish look on his face.\nTheon Greyjoy vaulted over the side of the boat and lifted Catelyn by the waist, setting\nher on a dry step above him as water lapped around his boots.\n\nEdmure came down the steps to embrace her. “Sweet sister,” he murmured hoarsely. He\nhad deep blue eyes and a mouth made for smiles, but he was not smiling now. He looked\nworn and tired, battered by battle and haggard from strain. His neck was bandaged\nwhere he had taken a wound. Catelyn hugged him fiercely.\n\n“Your grief is mine, Cat,” he said when they broke apart. “When we heard about Lord\nEddard . . . the Lannisters will pay, I swear it, you will have your vengeance.”\n\n“Will that bring Ned back to me?” she said sharply. The wound was still too fresh for\nsofter words. She could not think about Ned now. She would not. It would not do. She\nhad to be strong. “All that will keep. I must see Father.”\n\n“He awaits you in his solar,” Edmure said.\n\n“Lord Hoster is bedridden, my lady,” her father’s steward explained. When had that\ngood man grown so old and grey? “He instructed me to bring you to him at once.”\n\n“I’ll take her.” Edmure escorted her up the water stair and across the lower bailey, where\nPetyr Baelish and Brandon Stark had once crossed swords for her favor. The massive\nsandstone walls of the keep loomed above them. As they pushed through a door between\ntwo guardsmen in fish-crest helms, she asked, “How bad is he?” dreading the answer\neven as she said the words.\n\nEdmure’s look was somber. “He will not be with us long, the maesters say. The pain\nis . . . constant, and grievous.”\n\nA blind rage filled her, a rage at all the world; at her brother Edmure and her sister Lysa,\nat the Lannisters, at the maesters, at Ned and her father and the monstrous gods who\nwould take them both away from her. “You should have told me,” she said. “You should\nhave sent word as soon as you knew.”\n\n“He forbade it. He did not want his enemies to know that he was dying. With the realm\n"
## [715] "so troubled, he feared that if the Lannisters suspected how frail he was . . . ”\n\n“ . . . they might attack?” Catelyn finished, hard. It was your doing, yours, a voice\nwhispered inside her. If you had not taken it upon yourself to seize the dwarf . . .\n\nThey climbed the spiral stair in silence.\n\nThe keep was three-sided, like Riverrun itself, and Lord Hoster’s solar was triangular as\nwell, with a stone balcony that jutted out to the east like the prow of some great\nsandstone ship. From there the lord of the castle could look down on his walls and\nbattlements, and beyond, to where the waters met. They had moved her father’s bed out\nonto the balcony. “He likes to sit in the sun and watch the rivers,” Edmure explained.\n“Father, see who I’ve brought. Cat has come to see you . . . ”\n\nHoster Tully had always been a big man; tall and broad in his youth, portly as he grew\nolder. Now he seemed shrunken, the muscle and meat melted off his bones. Even his\nface sagged. The last time Catelyn had seen him, his hair and beard had been brown,\nwell streaked with grey. Now they had gone white as snow.\n\nHis eyes opened to the sound of Edmure’s voice. “Little cat,” he murmured in a voice\nthin and wispy and wracked by pain. “My little cat.” A tremulous smile touched his face\nas his hand groped for hers. “I watched for you . . . ”\n\n“I shall leave you to talk,” her brother said, kissing their lord father gently on the brow\nbefore he withdrew.\n\nCatelyn knelt and took her father’s hand in hers. It was a big hand, but fleshless now, the\nbones moving loosely under the skin, all the strength gone from it. “You should have told\nme,” she said. “A rider, a raven . . . ”\n\n“Riders are taken, questioned,” he answered. “Ravens are brought down . . . ” A spasm of\npain took him, and his fingers clutched hers hard. “The crabs are in my\nbelly . . . pinching, always pinching. Day and night. They have fierce claws, the crabs.\nMaester Vyman makes me dreamwine, milk of the poppy . . . I sleep a lot . . . but I\nwanted to be awake to see you, when you came. I was afraid . . . when the Lannisters\ntook your brother, the camps all around us . . . was afraid I would go, before I could see\nyou again . . . I was afraid . . . ”\n\n“I’m here, Father,” she said. “With Robb, my son. He’ll want to see you too.”\n\n“Your boy,” he whispered. “He had my eyes, I remember . . . ”\n"
## [716] "“He did, and does. And we’ve brought you Jaime Lannister, in irons. Riverrun is free\nagain, Father.”\n\nLord Hoster smiled. “I saw. Last night, when it began, I told them . . . had to see. They\ncarried me to the gatehouse . . . watched from the battlements. Ah, that was\nbeautiful . . . the torches came in a wave, I could hear the cries floating across the\nriver . . . sweet cries . . . when that siege tower went up, gods . . . would have died then,\nand glad, if only I could have seen you children first. Was it your boy who did it? Was it\nyour Robb?”\n\n“Yes,” Catelyn said, fiercely proud. “It was Robb . . . and Brynden. Your brother is here\nas well, my lord.”\n\n“Him.” Her father’s voice was a faint whisper. “The Blackfish . . . came back? From the\nVale?”\n\n“Yes.”\n\n“And Lysa?” A cool wind moved through his thin white hair. “Gods be good, your\nsister . . . did she come as well?”\n\nHe sounded so full of hope and yearning that it was hard to tell the truth. “No. I’m\nsorry . . . ”\n\n“Oh.” His face fell, and some light went out of his eyes. “I’d hoped I would have liked to\nsee her, before . . . ”\n\n“She’s with her son, in the Eyrie.”\n\nLord Hoster gave a weary nod. “Lord Robert now, poor Arryn’s gone . . . I\nremember . . . why did she not come with you?”\n\n“She is frightened, my lord. In the Eyrie she feels safe.” She kissed his wrinkled brow.\n“Robb will be waiting. Will you see him? And Brynden?”\n\n“Your son,” he whispered. “Yes. Cat’s child . . . he had my eyes, I remember. When he\nwas born. Bring him . . . yes.”\n\n“And your brother?”\n\nHer father glanced out over the rivers. “Blackfish,” he said. “Has he wed yet? Taken\n"
## [717] "some . . . girl to wife?”\n\nEven on his deathbed, Catelyn thought sadly. “He has not wed. You know that, Father.\nNor will he ever.”\n\n“I told him . . . commanded him. Marry! I was his lord. He knows. My right, to make his\nmatch. A good match. A Redwyne. Old House. Sweet girl, pretty . . . freckles . . . Bethany,\nyes. Poor child. Still waiting. Yes. Still . . . ”\n\n“Bethany Redwyne wed Lord Rowan years ago,” Catelyn reminded him. “She has three\nchildren by him.”\n\n“Even so,” Lord Hoster muttered. “Even so. Spit on the girl. The Redwynes. Spit on me.\nHis lord, his brother . . . that Blackfish. I had other offers. Lord Bracken’s girl. Walder\nFrey . . . any of three, he said . . . Has he wed? Anyone? Anyone?”\n\n“No one,” Catelyn said, “yet he has come many leagues to see you, fighting his way back\nto Riverrun. I would not be here now, if Ser Brynden had not helped us.”\n\n“He was ever a warrior,” her father husked. “That he could do. Knight of the Gate, yes.”\nHe leaned back and closed his eyes, inutterably weary. “Send him. Later. I’ll sleep now.\nToo sick to fight. Send him up later, the Blackfish . . . ”\n\nCatelyn kissed him gently, smoothed his hair, and left him there in the shade of his keep,\nwith his rivers flowing beneath. He was asleep before she left the solar.\n\nWhen she returned to the lower bailey, Ser Brynden Tully stood on the water stairs with\nwet boots, talking with the captain of Riverrun’s guards. He came to her at once. “Is he—”\n\n“Dying,” she said. “As we feared.”\n\nHer uncle’s craggy face showed his pain plain. He ran his fingers through his thick grey\nhair. “Will he see me?”\n\nShe nodded. “He says he is too sick to fight.”\n\nBrynden Blackfish chuckled. “I am too old a soldier to believe that. Hoster will be\nchiding me about the Redwyne girl even as we light his funeral pyre, damn his bones.”\n\nCatelyn smiled, knowing it was true. “I do not see Robb.”\n"
## [718] "“He went with Greyjoy to the hall, I believe.”\n\nTheon Greyjoy was seated on a bench in Riverrun’s Great Hall, enjoying a horn of ale\nand regaling her father’s garrison with an account of the slaughter in the Whispering\nWood. “Some tried to flee, but we’d pinched the valley shut at both ends, and we rode\nout of the darkness with sword and lance. The Lannisters must have thought the Others\nthemselves were on them when that wolf of Robb’s got in among them. I saw him tear\none man’s arm from his shoulder, and their horses went mad at the scent of him. I\ncouldn’t tell you how many men were thrown—”\n\n“Theon,” she interrupted, “where might I find my son?”\n\n“Lord Robb went to visit the godswood, my lady.”\n\nIt was what Ned would have done. He is his father’s son as much as mine, I must\nremember. Oh, gods, Ned . . .\n\nShe found Robb beneath the green canopy of leaves, surrounded by tall redwoods and\ngreat old elms, kneeling before the heart tree, a slender weirwood with a face more sad\nthan fierce. His longsword was before him, the point thrust in the earth, his gloved\nhands clasped around the hilt. Around him others knelt: Greatjon Umber, Rickard\nKarstark, Maege Mormont, Galbart Glover, and more. Even Tytos Blackwood was\namong them, the great raven cloak fanned out behind him. These are the ones who keep\nthe old gods, she realized. She asked herself what gods she kept these days, and could\nnot find an answer.\n\nIt would not do to disturb them at their prayers. The gods must have their due . . . even\ncruel gods who would take Ned from her, and her lord father as well. So Catelyn waited.\nThe river wind moved through the high branches, and she could see the Wheel Tower to\nher right, ivy crawling up its side. As she stood there, all the memories came flooding\nback to her. Her father had taught her to ride amongst these trees, and that was the elm\nthat Edmure had fallen from when he broke his arm, and over there, beneath that\nbower, she and Lysa had played at kissing with Petyr.\n\nShe had not thought of that in years. How young they all had been—she no older than\nSansa, Lysa younger than Arya, and Petyr younger still, yet eager. The girls had traded\nhim between them, serious and giggling by turns. It came back to her so vividly she\ncould almost feel his sweaty fingers on her shoulders and taste the mint on his breath.\nThere was always mint growing in the godswood, and Petyr had liked to chew it. He had\nbeen such a bold little boy, always in trouble. “He tried to put his tongue in my mouth,”\nCatelyn had confessed to her sister afterward, when they were alone. “He did with me\ntoo,” Lysa had whispered, shy and breathless. “I liked it.”\n"
## [719] "Robb got to his feet slowly and sheathed his sword, and Catelyn found herself wondering\nwhether her son had ever kissed a girl in the godswood. Surely he must have. She had\nseen Jeyne Poole giving him moist-eyed glances, and some of the serving girls, even ones\nas old as eighteen . . . he had ridden in battle and killed men with a sword, surely he had\nbeen kissed. There were tears in her eyes. She wiped them away angrily.\n\n“Mother,” Robb said when he saw her standing there. “We must call a council. There are\nthings to be decided.”\n\n“Your grandfather would like to see you,” she said. “Robb, he’s very sick.”\n\n“Ser Edmure told me. I am sorry, Mother . . . for Lord Hoster and for you. Yet first we\nmust meet. We’ve had word from the south. Renly Baratheon has claimed his brother’s\ncrown.”\n\n“Renly?” she said, shocked. “I had thought, surely it would be Lord Stannis . . . ”\n\n“So did we all, my lady,” Galbart Glover said.\n\nThe war council convened in the Great Hall, at four long trestle tables arranged in a\nbroken square. Lord Hoster was too weak to attend, asleep on his balcony, dreaming of\nthe sun on the rivers of his youth. Edmure sat in the high seat of the Tullys, with\nBrynden Blackfish at his side, and his father’s bannermen arrayed to right and left and\nalong the side tables. Word of the victory at Riverrun had spread to the fugitive lords of\nthe Trident, drawing them back. Karyl Vance came in, a lord now, his father dead\nbeneath the Golden Tooth. Ser Marq Piper was with him, and they brought a Darry, Ser\nRaymun’s son, a lad no older than Bran. Lord Jonos Bracken arrived from the ruins of\nStone Hedge, glowering and blustering, and took a seat as far from Tytos Blackwood as\nthe tables would permit.\n\nThe northern lords sat opposite, with Catelyn and Robb facing her brother across the\ntables. They were fewer. The Greatjon sat at Robb’s left hand, and then Theon Greyjoy;\nGalbart Glover and Lady Mormont were to the right of Catelyn. Lord Rickard Karstark,\ngaunt and hollow-eyed in his grief, took his seat like a man in a nightmare, his long\nbeard uncombed and unwashed. He had left two sons dead in the Whispering Wood,\nand there was no word of the third, his eldest, who had led the Karstark spears against\nTywin Lannister on the Green Fork.\n\nThe arguing raged on late into the night. Each lord had a right to speak, and speak they\ndid . . . and shout, and curse, and reason, and cajole, and jest, and bargain, and slam\ntankards on the table, and threaten, and walk out, and return sullen or smiling. Catelyn\n"
## [720] "sat and listened to it all.\n\nRoose Bolton had re-formed the battered remnants of their other host at the mouth of\nthe causeway. Ser Helman Tallhart and Walder Frey still held the Twins. Lord Tywin’s\narmy had crossed the Trident, and was making for Harrenhal. And there were two kings\nin the realm. Two kings, and no agreement.\n\nMany of the lords bannermen wanted to march on Harrenhal at once, to meet Lord\nTywin and end Lannister power for all time. Young, hot-tempered Marq Piper urged a\nstrike west at Casterly Rock instead. Still others counseled patience. Riverrun sat\nathwart the Lannister supply lines, Jason Mallister pointed out; let them bide their time,\ndenying Lord Tywin fresh levies and provisions while they strengthened their defenses\nand rested their weary troops. Lord Blackwood would have none of it. They should finish\nthe work they began in the Whispering Wood. March to Harrenhal and bring Roose\nBolton’s army down as well. What Blackwood urged, Bracken opposed, as ever; Lord\nJonos Bracken rose to insist they ought pledge their fealty to King Renly, and move\nsouth to join their might to his.\n\n“Renly is not the king,” Robb said. It was the first time her son had spoken. Like his\nfather, he knew how to listen.\n\n“You cannot mean to hold to Joffrey, my lord,” Galbart Glover said. “He put your father\nto death.”\n\n“That makes him evil,” Robb replied. “I do not know that it makes Renly king. Joffrey is\nstill Robert’s eldest trueborn son, so the throne is rightfully his by all the laws of the\nrealm. Were he to die, and I mean to see that he does, he has a younger brother.\nTommen is next in line after Joffrey.”\n\n“Tommen is no less a Lannister,” Ser Marq Piper snapped.\n\n“As you say,” said Robb, troubled. “Yet if neither one is king, still, how could it be Lord\nRenly? He’s Robert’s younger brother. Bran can’t be Lord of Winterfell before me, and\nRenly can’t be king before Lord Stannis.”\n\nLady Mormont agreed. “Lord Stannis has the better claim.”\n\n“Renly is crowned,” said Marq Piper. “Highgarden and Storm’s End support his claim,\nand the Dornishmen will not be laggardly. If Winterfell and Riverrun add their strength\nto his, he will have five of the seven great houses behind him. Six, if the Arryns bestir\nthemselves! Six against the Rock! My lords, within the year, we will have all their heads\non pikes, the queen and the boy king, Lord Tywin, the Imp, the Kingslayer, Ser Kevan,\n"
## [721] "all of them! That is what we shall win if we join with King Renly. What does Lord\nStannis have against that, that we should cast it all aside?”\n\n“The right,” said Robb stubbornly. Catelyn thought he sounded eerily like his father as\nhe said it.\n\n“So you mean us to declare for Stannis?” asked Edmure.\n\n“I don’t know,” said Robb. “I prayed to know what to do, but the gods did not answer.\nThe Lannisters killed my father for a traitor, and we know that was a lie, but if Joffrey is\nthe lawful king and we fight against him, we will be traitors.”\n\n“My lord father would urge caution,” aged Ser Stevron said, with the weaselly smile of a\nFrey. “Wait, let these two kings play their game of thrones. When they are done fighting,\nwe can bend our knees to the victor, or oppose him, as we choose. With Renly arming,\nlikely Lord Tywin would welcome a truce . . . and the safe return of his son. Noble lords,\nallow me to go to him at Harrenhal and arrange good terms and ransoms . . . ”\n\nA roar of outrage drowned out his voice. “Craven!” the Greatjon thundered. “Begging for\na truce will make us seem weak,” declared Lady Mormont. “Ransoms be damned, we\nmust not give up the Kingslayer,” shouted Rickard Karstark.\n\n“Why not a peace?” Catelyn asked.\n\nThe lords looked at her, but it was Robb’s eyes she felt, his and his alone. “My lady, they\nmurdered my lord father, your husband,” he said grimly. He unsheathed his longsword\nand laid it on the table before him, the bright steel on the rough wood. “This is the only\npeace I have for Lannisters.”\n\nThe Greatjon bellowed his approval, and other men added their voices, shouting and\ndrawing swords and pounding their fists on the table. Catelyn waited until they had\nquieted. “My lords,” she said then, “Lord Eddard was your liege, but I shared his bed and\nbore his children. Do you think I love him any less than you?” Her voice almost broke\nwith her grief, but Catelyn took a long breath and steadied herself. “Robb, if that sword\ncould bring him back, I should never let you sheathe it until Ned stood at my side once\nmore . . . but he is gone, and hundred Whispering Woods will not change that. Ned is\ngone, and Daryn Hornwood, and Lord Karstark’s valiant sons, and many other good\nmen besides, and none of them will return to us. Must we have more deaths still?”\n\n“You are a woman, my lady,” the Greatjon rumbled in his deep voice. “Women do not\nunderstand these things.”\n"
## [722] "“You are the gentle sex,” said Lord Karstark, with the lines of grief fresh on his face. “A\nman has a need for vengeance.”\n\n“Give me Cersei Lannister, Lord Karstark, and you would see how gentle a woman can\nbe,” Catelyn replied. “Perhaps I do not understand tactics and strategy . . . but I\nunderstand futility. We went to war when Lannister armies were ravaging the riverlands,\nand Ned was a prisoner, falsely accused of treason. We fought to defend ourselves, and\nto win my lord’s freedom.\n\n“Well, the one is done, and the other forever beyond our reach. I will mourn for Ned\nuntil the end of my days, but I must think of the living. I want my daughters back, and\nthe queen holds them still. If I must trade our four Lannisters for their two Starks, I will\ncall that a bargain and thank the gods. I want you safe, Robb, ruling at Winterfell from\nyour father’s seat. I want you to live your life, to kiss a girl and wed a woman and father a\nson. I want to write an end to this. I want to go home, my lords, and weep for my\nhusband.”\n\nThe hall was very quiet when Catelyn finished speaking.\n\n“Peace,” said her uncle Brynden. “Peace is sweet, my lady . . . but on what terms? It is no\ngood hammering your sword into a plowshare if you must forge it again on the morrow.”\n\n“What did Torrhen and my Eddard die for, if I am to return to Karhold with nothing but\ntheir bones?” asked Rickard Karstark.\n\n“Aye,” said Lord Bracken. “Gregor Clegane laid waste to my fields, slaughtered my\nsmallfolk, and left Stone Hedge a smoking ruin. Am I now to bend the knee to the ones\nwho sent him? What have we fought for, if we are to put all back as it was before?”\n\nLord Blackwood agreed, to Catelyn’s surprise and dismay. “And if we do make peace\nwith King Joffrey, are we not then traitors to King Renly? What if the stag should prevail\nagainst the lion, where would that leave us?”\n\n“Whatever you may decide for yourselves, I shall never call a Lannister my king,”\ndeclared Marq Piper.\n\n“Nor I!” yelled the little Darry boy. “I never will!”\n\nAgain the shouting began. Catelyn sat despairing. She had come so close, she thought.\nThey had almost listened, almost . . . but the moment was gone. There would be no\npeace, no chance to heal, no safety. She looked at her son, watched him as he listened to\nthe lords debate, frowning, troubled, yet wedded to his war. He had pledged himself to\n"
## [723] "marry a daughter of Walder Frey, but she saw his true bride plain before her now: the\nsword he had laid on the table.\n\nCatelyn was thinking of her girls, wondering if she would ever see them again, when the\nGreatjon lurched to his feet.\n\n“MY LORDS!” he shouted, his voice booming off the rafters. “Here is what I say to these\ntwo kings!” He spat. “ Renly Baratheon is nothing to me, nor Stannis neither. Why\nshould they rule over me and mine, from some flowery seat in Highgarden or Dorne?\nWhat do they know of the Wall or the wolfswood or the barrows of the First Men? Even\ntheir gods are wrong. The Others take the Lannisters too, I’ve had a bellyful of them.” He\nreached back over his shoulder and drew his immense two-handed greatsword. “Why\nshouldn’t we rule ourselves again? It was the dragons we married, and the dragons are\nall dead!” He pointed at Robb with the blade. “There sits the only king I mean to bow my\nknee to, m’lords,” he thundered. “The King in the North!”\n\nAnd he knelt, and laid his sword at her son’s feet.\n\n“I’ll have peace on those terms,” Lord Karstark said. “They can keep their red castle and\ntheir iron chair as well.” He eased his longsword from its scabbard. “The King in the\nNorth!” he said, kneeling beside the Greatjon.\n\nMaege Mormont stood. “The King of Winter!” she declared, and laid her spiked mace\nbeside the swords. And the river lords were rising too, Blackwood and Bracken and\nMallister, houses who had never been ruled from Winterfell, yet Catelyn watched them\nrise and draw their blades, bending their knees and shouting the old words that had not\nbeen heard in the realm for more than three hundred years, since Aegon the Dragon had\ncome to make the Seven Kingdoms one . . . yet now were heard again, ringing from the\ntimbers of her father’s hall:\n\n“The King in the North!”\n\n“The King in the North!”\n\n“THE KING IN THE NORTH!”\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [724] " previous | Table of Contents\n\n\n\n\n DAENERYS\nThe land was red and dead and parched, and good wood was hard to come by. Her\nforagers returned with gnarled cottonwoods, purple brush, sheaves of brown grass. They\ntook the two straightest trees, hacked the limbs and branches from them, skinned off\ntheir bark, and split them, laying the logs in a square. Its center they filled with straw,\nbrush, bark shavings, and bundles of dry grass. Rakharo chose a stallion from the small\nherd that remained to them; he was not the equal of Khal Drogo’s red, but few horses\nwere. In the center of the square, Aggo fed him a withered apple and dropped him in an\ninstant with an axe blow between the eyes.\n\nBound hand and foot, Mirri Maz Duur watched from the dust with disquiet in her black\neyes. “It is not enough to kill a horse,” she told Dany. “By itself, the blood is nothing. You\ndo not have the words to make a spell, nor the wisdom to find them. Do you think\nbloodmagic is a game for children? You call me maegi as if it were a curse, but all it\nmeans is wise. You are a child, with a child’s ignorance. Whatever you mean to do, it will\nnot work. Loose me from these bonds and I will help you.”\n\n“I am tired of the maegi’s braying,” Dany told Jhogo. He took his whip to her, and after\nthat the godswife kept silent.\n\nOver the carcass of the horse, they built a platform of hewn logs; trunks of smaller trees\nand limbs from the greater, and the thickest straightest branches they could find. They\nlaid the wood east to west, from sunrise to sunset. On the platform they piled Khal\nDrogo’s treasures: his great tent, his painted vests, his saddles and harness, the whip his\nfather had given him when he came to manhood, the arakh he had used to slay Khal Ogo\nand his son, a mighty dragonbone bow. Aggo would have added the weapons Drogo’s\nbloodriders had given Dany for bride gifts as well, but she forbade it. “Those are mine,”\nshe told him, “and I mean to keep them.” Another layer of brush was piled about the\nkhal’s treasures, and bundles of dried grass scattered over them.\n\nSer Jorah Mormont drew her aside as the sun was creeping toward its zenith.\n“Princess . . . ” he began.\n\n“Why do you call me that?” Dany challenged him. “My brother Viserys was your king,\nwas he not?”\n"
## [725] "“He was, my lady.”\n\n“Viserys is dead. I am his heir, the last blood of House Targaryen. Whatever was his is\nmine now.”\n\n“My . . . queen,” Ser Jorah said, going to one knee. “My sword that was his is yours,\nDacnerys. And my heart as well, that never belonged to your brother. I am only a knight,\nand I have nothing to offer you but exile, but I beg you, hear me. Let Khal Drogo go. You\nshall not be alone. I promise you, no man shall take you to Vaes Dothrak unless you wish\nto go. You need not join the dosh khaleen. Come east with me. Yi Ti, Qarth, the Jade Sea,\nAsshai by the Shadow. We will see all the wonders yet unseen, and drink what wines the\ngods see fit to serve us. Please, Khaleesi. I know what you intend. Do not. Do not.”\n\n“I must,” Dany told him. She touched his face, fondly, sadly. “You do not understand.”\n\n“I understand that you loved him,” Ser Jorah said in a voice thick with despair. “I loved\nmy lady wife once, yet I did not die with her. You are my queen, my sword is yours, but\ndo not ask me to stand aside as you climb on Drogo’s pyre. I will not watch you burn.”\n\n“Is that what you fear?” Dany kissed him lightly on his broad forehead. “I am not such a\nchild as that, sweet ser.”\n\n“You do not mean to die with him? You swear it, my queen?”\n\n“I swear it,” she said in the Common Tongue of the Seven Kingdoms that by rights were\nhers.\n\nThe third level of the platform was woven of branches no thicker than a finger, and\ncovered with dry leaves and twigs. They laid them north to south, from ice to fire, and\npiled them high with soft cushions and sleeping silks. The sun had begun to lower\ntoward the west by the time they were done. Dany called the Dothraki around her. Fewer\nthan a hundred were left. How many had Aegon started with? she wondered. It did not\nmatter.\n\n“You will be my khalasar,” she told them. “I see the faces of slaves. I free you. Take off\nyour collars. Go if you wish, no one shall harm you. If you stay, it will be as brothers and\nsisters, husbands and wives.” The black eyes watched her, wary, expressionless. “I see\nthe children, women, the wrinkled faces of the aged. I was a child yesterday. Today I am\na woman. Tomorrow I will be old. To each of you I say, give me your hands and your\nhearts, and there will always be a place for you.” She turned to the three young warriors\nof her khas. “Jhogo, to you I give the silver-handled whip that was my bride gift, and\nname you ko, and ask your oath, that you will live and die as blood of my blood, riding at\n"
## [726] "my side to keep me safe from harm.”\n\nJhogo took the whip from her hands, but his face was confused. “Khaleesi, “ he said\nhesitantly, “this is not done. It would shame me, to be bloodrider to a woman.”\n\n“Aggo,” Dany called, paying no heed to Jhogo’s words. If I look back I am lost. “To you I\ngive the dragonbone bow that was my bride gift.” It was double-curved, shiny black and\nexquisite, taller than she was. “I name you ko, and ask your oath, that you should live\nand die as blood of my blood, riding at my side to keep me safe from harm.”\n\nAggo accepted the bow with lowered eyes. “I cannot say these words. Only a man can\nlead a khalasar or name a ko.”\n\n“Rakharo,” Dany said, turning away from the refusal, “you shall have the great arakh\nthat was my bride gift, with hilt and blade chased in gold. And you too I name my ko,\nand ask that you live and die as blood of my blood, riding at my side to keep me safe\nfrom harm.”\n\n“You are khaleesi,” Rakharo said, taking the arakh. “I shall ride at your side to Vaes\nDothrak beneath the Mother of Mountains, and keep you safe from harm until you take\nyour place with the crones of the dosh khaleen. No more can I promise.”\n\nShe nodded, as calmly as if she had not heard his answer, and turned to the last of her\nchampions. “Ser Jorah Mormont,” she said, “first and greatest of my knights, I have no\nbride gift to give you, but I swear to you, one day you shall have from my hands a\nlongsword like none the world has ever seen, dragon-forged and made of Valyrian steel.\nAnd I would ask for your oath as well.”\n\n“You have it, my queen,” Ser Jorah said, kneeling to lay his sword at her feet. “I vow to\nserve you, to obey you, to die for you if need be.”\n\n“Whatever may come?”\n\n“Whatever may come.”\n\n“I shall hold you to that oath. I pray you never regret the giving of it.” Dany lifted him to\nhis feet. Stretching on her toes to reach his lips, she kissed the knight gently and said,\n“You are the first of my Queensguard.”\n\nShe could feel the eyes of the khalasar on her as she entered her tent. The Dothraki were\nmuttering and giving her strange sideways looks from the corners of their dark almond\neyes. They thought her mad, Dany realized. Perhaps she was. She would know soon\n"
## [727] "enough. If I look back I am lost.\n\nHer bath was scalding hot when Irri helped her into the tub, but Dany did not flinch or\ncry aloud. She liked the heat. It made her feel clean. Jhiqui had scented the water with\nthe oils she had found in the market in Vaes Dothrak; the steam rose moist and fragrant.\nDoreah washed her hair and combed it out, working loose the mats and tangles. Irri\nscrubbed her back. Dany closed her eyes and let the smell and the warmth enfold her.\nShe could feel the heat soaking through the soreness between her thighs. She shuddered\nwhen it entered her, and her pain and stiffness seemed to dissolve. She floated.\n\nWhen she was clean, her handmaids helped her from the water. Irri and Jhiqui fanned\nher dry, while Doreah brushed her hair until it fell like a river of liquid silver down her\nback. They scented her with spiceflower and cinnamon; a touch on each wrist, behind\nher ears, on the tips of her milk-heavy breasts. The last dab was for her sex. Irri’s finger\nfelt as light and cool as a lover’s kiss as it slid softly up between her lips.\n\nAfterward, Dany sent them all away, so she might prepare Khal Drogo for his final ride\ninto the night lands. She washed his body clean and brushed and oiled his hair, running\nher fingers through it for the last time, feeling the weight of it, remembering the first\ntime she had touched it, the night of their wedding ride. His hair had never been cut.\nHow many men could die with their hair uncut? She buried her face in it and inhaled the\ndark fragrance of the oils. He smelled like grass and warm earth, like smoke and semen\nand horses. He smelled like Drogo. Forgive me, sun of my life, she thought. Forgive me\nfor all I have done and all I must do. I paid the price, my star, but it was too high, too\nhigh . . .\n\nDany braided his hair and slid the silver rings onto his mustache and hung his bells one\nby one. So many bells, gold and silver and bronze. Bells so his enemies would hear him\ncoming and grow weak with fear. She dressed him in horsehair leggings and high boots,\nbuckling a belt heavy with gold and silver medallions about his waist. Over his scarred\nchest she slipped a painted vest, old and faded, the one Drogo had loved best. For herself\nshe chose loose sandsilk trousers, sandals that laced halfway up her legs, and a vest like\nDrogo’s.\n\nThe sun was going down when she called them back to carry his body to the pyre. The\nDothraki watched in silence as Jhogo and Aggo bore him from the tent. Dany walked\nbehind them. They laid him down on his cushions and silks, his head toward the Mother\nof Mountains far to the northeast.\n\n“Oil,” she commanded, and they brought forth the jars and poured them over the pyre,\nsoaking the silks and the brush and the bundles of dry grass, until the oil trickled from\nbeneath the logs and the air was rich with fragrance. “Bring my eggs,” Dany commanded\n"
## [728] "her handmaids. Something in her voice made them run.\n\nSer Jorah took her arm. “My queen, Drogo will have no use for dragon’s eggs in the night\nlands. Better to sell them in Asshai. Sell one and we can buy a ship to take us back to the\nFree Cities. Sell all three and you will be a wealthy woman all your days.”\n\n“They were not given to me to sell,” Dany told him.\n\nShe climbed the pyre herself to place the eggs around her sun-and-stars. The black\nbeside his heart, under his arm. The green beside his head, his braid coiled around it.\nThe cream-and-gold down between his legs. When she kissed him for the last time, Dany\ncould taste the sweetness of the oil on his lips.\n\nAs she climbed down off the pyre, she noticed Mirri Maz Duur watching her. “You are\nmad,” the godswife said hoarsely.\n\n“Is it so far from madness to wisdom?” Dany asked. “Ser Jorah, take this maegi and bind\nher to the pyre.”\n\n“To the . . . my queen, no, hear me . . . ”\n\n“Do as I say.” Still he hesitated, until her anger flared. “You swore to obey me, whatever\nmight come. Rakharo, help him.”\n\nThe godswife did not cry out as they dragged her to Khal Drogo’s pyre and staked her\ndown amidst his treasures. Dany poured the oil over the woman’s head herself. “I thank\nyou, Mirri Maz Duur,” she said, “for the lessons you have taught me.”\n\n“You will not hear me scream,” Mirri responded as the oil dripped from her hair and\nsoaked her clothing.\n\n“I will,” Dany said, “but it is not your screams I want, only your life. I remember what\nyou told me. Only death can pay for life.” Mirri Maz Duur opened her mouth, but made\nno reply. As she stepped away, Dany saw that the contempt was gone from the maegi’s\nflat black eyes; in its place was something that might have been fear. Then there was\nnothing to be done but watch the sun and look for the first star.\n\nWhen a horselord dies, his horse is slain with him, so he might ride proud into the night\nlands. The bodies are burned beneath the open sky, and the khal rises on his fiery steed\nto take his place among the stars. The more fiercely the man burned in life, the brighter\nhis star will shine in the darkness.\n"
## [729] "Jhogo spied it first. “There,” he said in a hushed voice. Dany looked and saw it, low in\nthe east. The first star was a comet, burning red. Bloodred; fire red; the dragon’s tail. She\ncould not have asked for a stronger sign.\n\nDany took the torch from Aggo’s hand and thrust it between the logs. The oil took the\nfire at once, the brush and dried grass a heartbeat later. Tiny flames went darting up the\nwood like swift red mice, skating over the oil and leaping from bark to branch to leaf. A\nrising heat puffed at her face, soft and sudden as a lover’s breath, but in seconds it had\ngrown too hot to bear. Dany stepped backward. The wood crackled, louder and louder.\nMirri Maz Duur began to sing in a shrill, ululating voice. The flames whirled and\nwrithed, racing each other up the platform. The dusk shimmered as the air itself seemed\nto liquefy from the heat. Dany heard logs spit and crack. The fires swept over Mirri Maz\nDuur. Her song grew louder, shriller . . . then she gasped, again and again, and her song\nbecame a shuddering wail, thin and high and full of agony.\n\nAnd now the flames reached her Drogo, and now they were all around him. His clothing\ntook fire, and for an instant the khal was clad in wisps of floating orange silk and tendrils\nof curling smoke, grey and greasy. Dany’s lips parted and she found herself holding her\nbreath. Part of her wanted to go to him as Ser Jorah had feared, to rush into the flames\nto beg for his forgiveness and take him inside her one last time, the fire melting the flesh\nfrom their bones until they were as one, forever.\n\nShe could smell the odor of burning flesh, no different than horseflesh roasting in a\nfirepit. The pyre roared in the deepening dusk like some great beast, drowning out the\nfainter sound of Mirri Maz Duur’s screaming and sending up long tongues of flame to\nlick at the belly of the night. As the smoke grew thicker, the Dothraki backed away,\ncoughing. Huge orange gouts of fire unfurled their banners in that hellish wind, the logs\nhissing and cracking, glowing cinders rising on the smoke to float away into the dark like\nso many newborn fireflies. The heat beat at the air with great red wings, driving the\nDothraki back, driving off even Mormont, but Dany stood her ground. She was the blood\nof the dragon, and the fire was in her.\n\nShe had sensed the truth of it long ago, Dany thought as she took a step closer to the\nconflagration, but the brazier had not been hot enough. The flames writhed before her\nlike the women who had danced at her wedding, whirling and singing and spinning their\nyellow and orange and crimson veils, fearsome to behold, yet lovely, so lovely, alive with\nheat. Dany opened her arms to them, her skin flushed and glowing. This is a wedding,\ntoo, she thought. Mirri Maz Duur had fallen silent. The godswife thought her a child, but\nchildren grow, and children learn.\n\nAnother step, and Dany could feel the heat of the sand on the soles of her feet, even\nthrough her sandals. Sweat ran down her thighs and between her breasts and in rivulets\n"
## [730] "over her cheeks, where tears had once run. Ser Jorah was shouting behind her, but he\ndid not matter anymore, only the fire mattered. The flames were so beautiful, the\nloveliest things she had ever seen, each one a sorcerer robed in yellow and orange and\nscarlet, swirling long smoky cloaks. She saw crimson firelions and great yellow serpents\nand unicorns made of pale blue flame; she saw fish and foxes and monsters, wolves and\nbright birds and flowering trees, each more beautiful than the last. She saw a horse, a\ngreat grey stallion limned in smoke, its flowing mane a nimbus of blue flame. Yes, my\nlove, my sun-and-stars, yes, mount now, ride now.\n\nHer vest had begun to smolder, so Dany shrugged it off and let it fall to the ground. The\npainted leather burst into sudden flame as she skipped closer to the fire, her breasts bare\nto the blaze, streams of milk flowing from her red and swollen nipples. Now, she\nthought, now, and for an instant she glimpsed Khal Drogo before her, mounted on his\nsmoky stallion, a flaming lash in his hand. He smiled, and the whip snaked down at the\npyre, hissing.\n\nShe heard a crack, the sound of shattering stone. The platform of wood and brush and\ngrass began to shift and collapse in upon itself. Bits of burning wood slid down at her,\nand Dany was showered with ash and cinders. And something else came crashing down,\nbouncing and rolling, to land at her feet; a chunk of curved rock, pale and veined with\ngold, broken and smoking. The roaring filled the world, yet dimly through the firefall\nDany heard women shriek and children cry out in wonder.\n\nOnly death can pay for life.\n\nAnd there came a second crack, loud and sharp as thunder, and the smoke stirred and\nwhirled around her and the pyre shifted, the logs exploding as the fire touched their\nsecret hearts. She heard the screams of frightened horses, and the voices of the Dothraki\nraised in shouts of fear and terror, and Ser Jorah calling her name and cursing. No, she\nwanted to shout to him, no, my good knight, do not fear for me. The fire is mine. I am\nDaenerys Stormborn, daughter of dragons, bride of dragons, mother of dragons, don’t\nyou see? Don’t you SEE? With a belch of flame and smoke that reached thirty feet into\nthe sky, the pyre collapsed and came down around her. Unafraid, Dany stepped forward\ninto the firestorm, calling to her children.\n\nThe third crack was as loud and sharp as the breaking of the world.\n\nWhen the fire died at last and the ground became cool enough to walk upon, Ser Jorah\nMormont found her amidst the ashes, surrounded by blackened logs and bits of glowing\nember and the burnt bones of man and woman and stallion. She was naked, covered\nwith soot, her clothes turned to ash, her beautiful hair all crisped away . . . yet she was\nunhurt.\n"
## [731] "The cream-and-gold dragon was suckling at her left breast, the green-and-bronze at the\nright. Her arms cradled them close. The black-and-scarlet beast was draped across her\nshoulders, its long sinuous neck coiled under her chin. When it saw Jorah, it raised its\nhead and looked at him with eyes as red as coals.\n\nWordless, the knight fell to his knees. The men of her khas came up behind him. Jhogo\nwas the first to lay his arakh at her feet. “Blood of my blood,” he murmured, pushing his\nface to the smoking earth. “Blood of my blood,” she heard Aggo echo. “Blood of my\nblood,” Rakharo shouted.\n\nAnd after them came her handmaids, and then the others, all the Dothraki, men and\nwomen and children, and Dany had only to look at their eyes to know that they were\nhers now, today and tomorrow and forever, hers as they had never been Drogo’s.\n\nAs Daenerys Targaryen rose to her feet, her black hissed, pale smoke venting from its\nmouth and nostrils. The other two pulled away from her breasts and added their voices\nto the call, translucent wings unfolding and stirring the air, and for the first time in\nhundreds of years, the night came alive with the music of dragons.\n\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents\n"
## [732] " Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n HOUSE BARATHEON\nThe youngest of the Great Houses, born during the Wars of Conquest. Its\nfounder, Orys Baratheon, was rumored to be Aegon the Dragon’s bastard\nbrother. Orys rose through the ranks to become one of Aegon’s fiercest\ncommanders. When he defeated and slew Argilac the Arrogant, the last\nStorm King, Aegon rewarded him with Argilac’s castle, lands, and daughter.\nOrys took the girl to bride, and adopted the banner, honors, and words of\nher line. The Baratheon sigil is a crowned stag, black, on a golden field.\nTheir words are Ours is the Fury.\n\n KING ROBERT BARATHEON, the First of His Name,\n\n —his wife, QUEEN CERSEI, of House Lannister,\n\n —their children:\n\n —PRINCE JOFFREY, heir to the Iron Throne, twelve,\n\n —PRINCESS MYRCELLA, a girl of eight,\n\n —PRINCE TOMMEN, a boy of seven,\n\n —his brothers:\n\n —STANNIS BARATHEON, Lord of Dragonstone,\n\n —his wife, LADY SELYSE of House Florent,\n\n —their daughter, SHIREEN, a girl of nine,\n\n —RENLY BARATHEON, Lord of Storm’s End,\n\n —his small council:\n\n —GRAND MAESTER PYCELLE,\n"
## [733] " —LORD PETYR BAELISH, called LITTLEFINGER, master of coin,\n\n —LORD STANNIS BARATHEON, master of ships,\n\n —LORD RENLY BARATHEON, master of laws,\n\n —SER BARRISTAN SELMY, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard,\n\n —VARYS, a eunuch, called the Spider, master of whisperers,\n\n—his court and retainers:\n\n —SER ILYN PAYNE, the King’s Justice, a headsman,\n\n —SANDOR CLEGANE, called the Hound, sworn shield to Prince\n Joffrey,\n\n —JANOS SLYNT, a commoner, commander of the City Watch of\n King’s Landing,\n\n —JALABAR XHO, an exile prince from the Summer Isles,\n\n —MOON BOY, a jester and fool,\n\n —LANCEL and TYREK LANNISTER, squires to the king, the queen’s\n cousins,\n\n —SER ARON SANTAGAR, master-at-arms,\n\n—his Kingsguard:\n\n —SER BARRISTAN SELMY, Lord Commander,\n\n —SER JAIME LANNISTER, called the Kingslayer,\n\n —SER BOROS BLOUNT,\n\n —SER MERYN TRANT,\n\n —SER ARYS OAKHEART,\n"
## [734] " —SER PRESTON GREENFIELD,\n\n —SER MANDON MOORE,\n\n\n\n\nThe principal houses sworn to Storm’s End are Selmy, Wylde, Trant,\nPenrose, Errol, Estermont, Tarth, Swann, Dondarrion, Caron.\n\nThe principal houses sworn to Dragonstone are Celtigar, Velaryon, Seaworth,\nBar Emmon, and Sunglass.\n\n\n\n Table of Contents | next\n"
## [735] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n HOUSE STARK\nThe Starks trace their descent from Brandon the Builder and the ancient\nKings of Winter. For thousands of years they ruled from Winterfell as Kings\nin the North, until Torrhen Stark, the King Who Knelt, chose to swear fealty\nto Aegon the Dragon rather than give battle. Their blazon is a grey direwolf\non an ice-white field. The Stark words are Winter Is Coming.\n\n EDDARD STARK, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North,\n\n —his wife, LADY CATELYN, of House Tully,\n\n —their children:\n\n —ROBB, the heir to Winterfell, fourteen years of age,\n\n —SANSA, the eldest daughter, eleven,\n\n —ARYA, the younger daughter, a girl of nine,\n\n —BRANDON, called Bran, seven,\n\n —RICKON, a boy of three,\n\n —his bastard son, JON SNOW, a boy of fourteen,\n\n —his ward, THEON GREYJOY, heir to the Iron Islands,\n\n —his siblings:\n\n —{BRANDON}, his elder brother, murdered by the command of\n Aerys II Targaryen,\n\n —{LYANNA}, his younger sister, died in the mountains of Dorne,\n\n —BENJEN, his younger brother, a man of the Night’s Watch,\n"
## [736] "—his household:\n\n —MAESTER LUWIN, counsellor, healer, and tutor,\n\n —VAYON POOLE, steward of Winterfell,\n\n —JEYNE, his daughter, Sansa’s closest friend,\n\n —JORY CASSEL, captain of the guard,\n\n —HALLIS MOLLEN, DESMOND, JACKS, PORTHER, QUENT, ALYN,\n TOMARD, VARLY, HEWARD, CAYN, WYL, guardsmen,\n\n —SER RODRIK CASSEL, master-at-arms, Jory’s uncle,\n\n —BETH, his young daughter,\n\n —SEPTA MORDANE, tutor to Lord Eddard’s daughters,\n\n —SEPTON CHAYLE, keeper of the castle sept and library,\n\n —HULLEN, master of horse,\n\n —his son, HARWIN, a guardsman,\n\n —JOSETH, a stableman and horse trainer,\n\n —FARLEN, kennelmaster,\n\n —OLD NAN, storyteller, once a wet nurse,\n\n —HODOR, her great-grandson, a simpleminded stableboy,\n\n —GAGE, the cook,\n\n —MIKKEN, smith and armorer,\n\n—his principal lords and bannermen,\n\n —SER HELMAN TALLHART,\n"
## [737] " —RICKARD KARSTARK, Lord of Karhold,\n\n —ROOSE BOLTON, Lord of the Dreadfort,\n\n —JON UMBER, called the Greatjon,\n\n —GALBART AND ROBETT GLOVER,\n\n —WYMAN MANDERLY, Lord of White Harbor,\n\n —MAEGE MORMONT, the Lady of Bear Island,\n\n\n\n\nThe principal houses sworn to Winterfell are Karstark, Umber, Flint,\nMormont, Hornwood, Cerwyn, Reed, Manderly, Glover, Tallhart, Bolton.\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [738] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n HOUSE LANNISTER\nFair-haired, tall, and handsome, the Lannisters are the blood of Andal\nadventurers who carved out a mighty kingdom in the western hills and\nvalleys. Through the female line they claim descent from Lann the Clever,\nthe legendary trickster of the Age of Heroes. The gold of Casterly Rock and\nthe Golden Tooth has made them the wealthiest of the Great Houses. Their\nsigil is a golden lion upon a crimson field. The Lannister words are Hear Me\nRoar!\n\n TYWIN LANNISTER, Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West, Shield of\n Lannisport,\n\n —his wife, {LADY JOANNA}, a cousin, died in childbed,\n\n —their children:\n\n —SER JAIME, called the Kingslayer, heir to Casterly Rock, a twin to\n Cersei,\n\n —QUEEN CERSEI, wife of King Robert I Baratheon, a twin to Jaime,\n\n —TYRION, called the Imp, a dwarf,\n\n —his siblings:\n\n —SER KEVAN, his eldest brother,\n\n —his wife, DORNA, of House Swyft,\n\n —their eldest son, LANCEL, squire to the king,\n\n —their twin sons, WILLEM and MARTYN,\n\n —their infant daughter, JANEI,\n\n —GENNA, his sister, wed to Ser Emmon Frey,\n"
## [739] " —their son, SER CLEOS FREY,\n\n —their son, TION FREY, a squire,\n\n—{SER TYGETT}, his second brother, died of a pox,\n\n —his widow, DARLESSA, of House Marbrand,\n\n —their son, TYREK, squire to the king,\n\n—{GERION}, his youngest brother, lost at sea,\n\n —his bastard daughter, JOY, a girl of ten,\n\n—their cousin, SER STAFFORD LANNISTER, brother to the late\nLady Joanna,\n\n —his daughters, CERENNA and MYRIELLE,\n\n —his son, SER DAVEN LANNISTER,\n\n—his counselor, MAESTER CREYLEN,\n\n—his chief knights and lords bannermen:\n\n —LORD LEO LEFFORD,\n\n —SER ADDAM MARBRAND,\n\n —SER GREGOR CLEGANE, the Mountain That Rides,\n\n —SER HARYS SWYFT, father by marriage to Ser Kevan,\n\n —LORD ANDROX BRAX,\n\n —SER FORLEY PRESTER,\n\n —SER AMORY LOACH,\n\n —VARGO HOAT, of the Free City of Qohor, a sellsword,\n"
## [740] "Principal houses sworn to Casterly Rock are Payne, Swyft, Marbrand,\nLydden, Banefort, Lefford, Crakehall, Serrett, Broom, Clegane, Prester, and\nWesterling.\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [741] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n HOUSE ARRYN\nThe Arryns are descended from the Kings of Mountain and Vale, one of the\noldest and purest lines of Andal nobility. Their sigil is the moon-and-falcon,\nwhite, upon a sky-blue field. The Arryn words are As High As Honor.\n\n {JON ARRYN}, Lord of the Eyrie, Defender of the Vale, Warden of the\n East, Hand of the King, recently deceased,\n\n —his first wife, {LADY JEYNE, of House Royce}, died in childbed, her\n daughter stillborn,\n\n —his second wife, {LADY ROWENA, of House Arryn}, his cousin, died\n of a winter chill, childless,\n\n —his third wife and widow, LADY LYSA, of House Tully,\n\n —their son:\n\n —ROBERT ARRYN, a sickly boy of six years, now Lord of the Eyrie\n and Defender of the Vale,\n\n —their retainers and household:\n\n —MAESTER COLEMON, counselor, healer, and tutor,\n\n —SER VARDIS EGEN, captain of the guard,\n\n —SER BRYNDEN TULLY, called the Blackfish, Knight of the Gate\n and uncle to Lady Lysa,\n\n —LORD NESTOR ROYCE, High Steward of the Vale,\n\n —SER ALBAR ROYCE, his son,\n\n —MYA STONE, a bastard girl in his service,\n"
## [742] " —LORD EON HUNTER, suitor to Lady Lysa,\n\n —SER LYN CORBRAY, suitor to Lady Lysa,\n\n —MYCHEL REDFORT, his squire,\n\n —LADY ANYA WAYNWOOD, a widow,\n\n —SER MORTON WAYNWOOD, her son, suitor to Lady Lysa,\n\n —SER DONNEL WAYNWOOD, her son,\n\n —MORD, a brutal gaoler,\n\n\n\n\nThe principal houses sworn to the Eyrie are Royce, Baelish, Egen,\nWaynwood, Hunter, Redfort, Corbray, Belmore, Melcolm, and Hersy.\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [743] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n HOUSE TULLY\nThe Tullys never reigned as kings, though they held rich lands and the great\ncastle at Riverrun for a thousand years. During the Wars of Conquest, the\nriverlands belonged to Harren the Black, King of the Isles. Harren’s\ngrandfather, King Harwyn Hardhand, had taken the Trident from Arrec the\nStorm King, whose ancestors had conquered all the way to the Neck three\nhundred years earlier, slaying the last of the old River Kings. A vain and\nbloody tyrant, Harren the Black was little loved by those he ruled, and many\nof the river lords deserted him to join Aegon’s army. First among those was\nEdmyn Tully of Riverrun. When Harren and his line perished in the burning\nof Harrenhal, Aegon rewarded House Tully by raising Lord Edmyn to\ndominion over the lands of the Trident and requiring the other river lords to\nswear him fealty. The Tully sigil is a leaping trout, silver, on a field of\nrippling blue and red. The Tully words are Family, Duty, Honor.\n\n HOSTER TULLY, Lord of Riverrun,\n\n —his wife, {LADY MINISA, of House Whent}, died in childbed,\n\n —their children:\n\n —CATELYN, the eldest daughter, wed to Lord Eddard Stark,\n\n —LYSA, the younger daughter, wed to Lord Jon Arryn,\n\n —SER EDMURE, heir to Riverrun,\n\n —his brother, SER BRYNDEN, called the Blackfish,\n\n —his household:\n\n —MAESTER VYMAN, counselor, healer, and tutor,\n\n —SER DESMOND GRELL, master-at-arms,\n\n —SER ROBIN RYGER, captain of the guard,\n"
## [744] " —UTHERYDES WAYN, steward of Riverrun,\n\n —his knights and lords bannermen:\n\n —JASON MALLISTER, Lord of Seagate,\n\n —PATREK MALLISTER, his son and heir,\n\n —WALDER FREY, Lord of the Crossing,\n\n —his numerous sons, grandsons, and bastards,\n\n —JONOS BRACKEN, Lord of the Stone Hedge,\n\n —TYTOS BLACKWOOD, Lord of Raventree,\n\n —SER RAYMUN DARRY,\n\n —SER KARYL VANCE,\n\n —SER MARQ PIPER,\n\n —SHELLA WHENT, Lady of Harrenhal,\n\n —SER WILLIS WODE, a knight in her service,\n\n\n\n\nLesser houses sworn to Riverrun include Darry, Frey, Mallister, Bracken,\nBlackwood, Whent, Ryger, Piper, Vance.\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [745] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n HOUSE TYRELL\nThe Tyrells rose to power as stewards to the Kings of the Reach, whose\ndomains included the fertile plains of the southwest from the Dornish\nmarches and Blackwater Rush to the shores of the Sunset Sea. Through the\nfemale line they claim descent from Garth Greenhand, gardener king of the\nFirst Men, who wore a crown of vines and flowers and made the land bloom.\nWhen King Mern, last of the old line, perished on the Field of Fire, his\nsteward Harlen Tyrell surrendered Highgarden to Aegon Targaryen, pledging\nfealty. Aegon granted him the castle and dominion over the Reach. The\nTyrell sigil is a golden rose on a grass-green field. Their words are Growing\nStrong\n\n MACE TYRELL, Lord of Highgarden, Warden of the South, Defender of the\n Marches, High Marshal of the Reach,\n\n —his wife, LADY ALERIE, of House Hightower of Oldtown,\n\n —their children:\n\n —WILLAS, their eldest son, heir to Highgarden,\n\n —SER GARLAN, called the Gallant, their second son,\n\n —SER LORAS, the Knight of Flowers, their youngest son,\n\n —MARGAERY, their daughter, a maid of fourteen years,\n\n —his widowed mother, LADY OLENNA of House Redwyne, called the\n Queen of Thorns,\n\n —his sisters:\n\n —MINA, web to Lord Paxter Redwyne,\n\n —JANNA, wed to Ser Jon Fossoway,\n"
## [746] "—his uncles:\n\n —GARTH, called the Gross, Lord Seneschal of Highgarden,\n\n —his bastard sons, GARSE and GARRETT FLOWERS,\n\n —SER MORYN, Lord Commander of the City Watch of Oldtown,\n\n —MAESTER GORMON, a scholar of the Citadel,\n\n—his household:\n\n —MAESTER LOMYS, counselor, healer, and tutor,\n\n —IGON VYRWEL, captain of the guard,\n\n —SER VORTIMER CRANE, master-at-arms,\n\n—his knights and lords bannermen:\n\n —PAXTER REDWYNE, Lord of the Arbor,\n\n —his wife, LADY MINA, of House Tyrell,\n\n —their children:\n\n —SER HORAS, mocked as Horror, twin to Hobber,\n\n —SER HOBBER, mocked as Slobber, twin to Horas,\n\n —DESMERA, a maid of fifteen,\n\n —RANDYLL TARLY, Lord of Horn Hill,\n\n —SAMWELL, his elder son, of the Night’s Watch,\n\n —DICKON, his younger son, heir to Horn Hill,\n\n —ARWYN OAKHEART, Lady of Old Oak,\n\n —MATHIS ROWAN, Lord of Goldengrove,\n"
## [747] " —LEYTON HIGHTOWER, Voice of Oldtown, Lord of the Port,\n\n —SER JON FOSSOWAY,\n\n\n\n\nPrincipal houses sworn to Highgarden are Vrywel, Florent, Oakheart,\nHightower, Crane, Tarly, Redwyne, Rowan, Fossoway, and Mullendore.\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [748] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n HOUSE GREYJOY\nThe Greyjoys of Pyke claim descent from the Grey King of the Age of\nHeroes. Legend says the Grey King ruled not only the western isles but the\nsea itself, and took a mermaid to wife.\n\nFor thousands of years, raiders from the Iron Islands—called “ironmen” by\nthose they plundered—were the terrors of the seas, sailing as far as the Port\nof Ibben and the Summer Isles. They prided themselves on their fierceness\nin battle and their sacred freedoms. Each island had its own “salt king” and\n“rock king.” The High King of the Isles was chosen from among their\nnumber, until King Urron made the throne hereditary by murdering the other\nkings when they assembled for a choosing. Urron’s own line was\nextinguished a thousand years later when the Andals swept over the islands.\nThe Greyjoys, like other island lords, intermarried with the conquerors.\n\nThe Iron Kings extended their rule far beyond the isles themselves, carving\nkingdoms out of the mainland with fire and sword. King Qhored could\ntruthfully boast that his writ ran “wherever men can smell salt water or hear\nthe crash of waves.” In later centuries, Qhored’s descendants lost the Arbor,\nOldtown, Bear Island, and much of the western shore. Still, come the Wars\nof Conquest, King Harren the Black ruled all the lands between the\nmountains, from the Neck to the Blackwater Rush. When Harren and his\nsons perished in the fall of Harrenhal, Aegon Targaryen granted the\nriverlands to House Tully, and allowed the surviving lords of the Iron Islands\nto revive their ancient custom and choose who should have the primacy\namong them. They chose Lord Vickon Greyjoy of Pyke.\n\nThe Greyjoy sigil is a golden kraken upon a black field. Their words are We\nDo Not Sow.\n\n BALON GREYJOY, Lord of the Iron Islands, King of Salt and Rock, Son of\n the Sea Wind, Lord Reaper of Pyke.\n\n —his wife, LADY ALANNYS, of House Harlaw,\n\n —their children:\n"
## [749] " —{RODRIK}, their eldest son, slain at Seagard during Greyjoy’s\n Rebellion,\n\n —{MARON}, their second son, slain on the walls of Pyke during\n Greyjoy’s Rebellion,\n\n —ASHA, their daughter, captain of the Black Wind,\n\n —THEON, their sole surviving son, heir to Pyke, a ward of Lord\n Eddard Stark,\n\n —his brothers:\n\n —EURON, called Crow’s Eye, captain of the Silence, an outlaw,\n pirate, and raider,\n\n —VICTARION, Lord Captain of the Iron Fleet,\n\n —AERON, called Damphair, a priest of the Drowned God,\n\n\n\n\nLesser houses sworn to Pyke include Harlaw, Stonehouse, Merlyn, Sunderly,\nBotley, Tawney, Wynch, Goodbrother.\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [750] " previous | Table of Contents | next\n\n\n\n\n HOUSE MARTELL\nNymeria, the warrior queen of the Rhoyne, brought her ten thousand ships\nto land in Dorne, the southernmost of the Seven Kingdoms, and took Lord\nMors Martell to husband. With her help, he vanquished his rivals to rule all\nDorne. The Rhoynar influence remains strong. Thus Dornish rulers style\nthemselves “Prince” rather than “King.” Under Dornish law, lands and titles\npass to the eldest child, not the eldest male. Dorne, alone of the Seven\nKingdoms, was never conquered by Aegon the Dragon. It was not\npermanently joined to the realm until two hundred years later, and then by\nmarriage and treaty, not the sword. Peaceable King Daeron II succeeded\nwhere the warriors had failed by wedding the Dornish princess Myriah and\ngiving his own sister in marriage to the reigning Prince of Dorne. The Martell\nbanner is a red sun pierced by a golden spear. Their words are Unbowed,\nUnbent, Unbroken.\n\n DORAN NYMEROS MARTELL, Lord of Sunspear, Prince of Dorne,\n\n —his wife, MELLARIO, of the Free City of Norvos,\n\n —their children:\n\n —PRINCESS ARIANNE, their eldest daughter, heir to Sunspear,\n\n —PRINCE QUENTYN, their eldest son,\n\n —PRINCE TRYSTANE, their younger son,\n\n —his siblings:\n\n —his sister, {PRINCESS ELIA}, wed to Prince Rhaegar Targaryen,\n slain during the Sack of King’s Landing,\n\n —their children:\n\n —{PRINCESS RHAENYS}, a young girl, slain during the Sack\n of King’s Landing,\n"
## [751] " —{PRINCE AEGON}, a babe, slain during the Sack of King’s\n Landing,\n\n —his brother, PRINCE OBERYN, the Red Viper,\n\n —his household:\n\n —AREO HOTAH, a Norvashi sellsword, captain of guards,\n\n —MAESTER CALEOTTE, counselor, healer, and tutor,\n\n —his knights and lords bannermen:\n\n —EDRIC DAYNE, Lord of Starfall,\n\n\n\n\nThe principal houses sworn to Sunspear include Jordayne, Santagar,\nAllyrion, Toland, Yronwood, Wyl, Fowler, and Dayne.\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents | next\n"
## [752] " previous | Table of Contents\n\n\n\n\n The Old Dynasty\n\n HOUSE TARGARYEN\nThe Targaryens are the blood of the dragon, descended from the high lords\nof the ancient Freehold of Valyria, their heritage proclaimed in a striking\n(some say inhuman) beauty, with lilac or indigo or violet eyes and hair of\nsilver-gold or platinum white.\n\nAegon the Dragon’s ancestors escaped the Doom of Valyria and the chaos\nand slaughter that followed to settle on Dragonstone, a rocky island in the\nnarrow sea. It was from there that Aegon and his sisters sailed to conquer\nthe Seven Kingdoms. To preserve the blood royal and keep it pure, House\nTargaryen has often followed the Valyrian custom of wedding brother to\nsister. Aegon himself took both his sisters to wife, and fathered sons on\neach. The Targaryen banner is a three-headed dragon, red on black, the\nthree heads representing Aegon and his sisters. The Targaryen words are\nFire and Blood.\n\n\n\n\n THE TARGARYEN SUCCESSION\n dated by years after Aegon’s Landing\n1-37\n Aegon I\n Aegon the Conqueror, Aegon the Dragon,\n\n37-42\n Aenys I\n son of Aegon and Rhaenys,\n\n42-48\n Maegor I\n Maegor the Cruel, son of Aegon and Visenya,\n\n48-103\n"
## [753] " Jaehaerys I\n the Old King, the Conciliator, Aenys’ son,\n\n103-129\n Viserys I\n grandson to Jaehaerys,\n\n129-131\n Aegon II\n eldest son of Viserys,\n [Aegon II’s ascent was disputed by his sister Rhaenyra, a year his elder. Both\n perished in the war between them, called by singers the Dance of the Dragons.]\n\n131-157\n Aegon III\n the Dragonbane, Rhaenyra’s son,\n [The last of the Targaryen dragons died during the reign of Aegon III.]\n\n157-161\n Daeron I\n the Young Dragon, the Boy King, eldest son of Aegon III,\n [Daeron conquered Dorne, but was unable to hold it, and died young.]\n\n161-171\n Baelor I\n the Beloved, the Blessed, septon and king, second son of Aegon III,\n\n171-172\n Viserys II\n fourth son of Aegon III,\n\n172-184\n Aegon IV\n the Unworthy, eldest son of Viserys,\n [His younger brother, Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, was champion and some\n say lover to Queen Naerys.]\n\n184-209\n Daeron II\n Queen Naerys’ son, by Aegon or Aemon,\n [Daeron brought Dorne into the realm by wedding the Dornish princess Myriah.]\n\n209-221\n"
## [754] " Aerys I\n second son to Daeron II (left no issue),\n\n221-233\n Maekar I\n fourth son of Daeron II,\n\n233-259\n Aegon V\n the Unlikely, Maekar’s fourth son,\n\n259-262\n Jaehaerys II\n second son of Aegon the Unlikely,\n\n262-283\n Aerys II\n the Mad King, only son to Jaehaerys,\n\nTherein the line of the dragon kings ended, when Aerys II was dethroned\nand killed, along with his heir, the crown prince Rhaegar Targaryen, slain by\nRobert Baratheon on the Trident.\n\n\n\n\n THE LAST TARGARYENS\n\n {KING AERYS TARGARYEN}, the Second of His Name, slain by Jaime\n Lannister during the Sack of King’s Landing,\n\n —his sister and wife, {QUEEN RHAELLA} of House Targaryen, died in\n childbed on Dragonstone,\n\n —their children:\n\n —{PRINCE RHAEGAR}, heir to the Iron Throne, slain by Robert\n Baratheon on the Trident,\n\n —his wife, {PRINCESS ELIA} of House Martell, slain during the\n Sack of King’s Landing,\n\n —their children:\n"
## [755] " —{PRINCESS RHAENYS}, a young girl, slain during the sack\n of King’s Landing,\n\n —{PRINCE AEGON}, a babe, slain during the sack of King’s\n Landing,\n\n—PRINCE VISERYS, styling himself Viserys, the Third of His Name,\nLord of the Seven Kingdoms, called the Beggar King,\n\n—PRINCESS DAENERYS, called Daenerys Stormborn, a maid of\nthirteen years.\n\n\n\n\n previous | Table of Contents\n"Some things to notice:
- How cool to extract text out of a PDF! Do you think it will work with any PDF?
- Each row is a page of the PDF (i.e., this is a vector of strings, one for each page)
- The pdf_text() function only sees text that is “selectable”
Example: Just want to get text from a single page (e.g. Page 9)?
got_p9 <- got_text[9]
got_p9## [1] "one before, when I was half a boy. Everyone talks about snows forty foot deep, and how\nthe ice wind comes howling out of the north, but the real enemy is the cold. It steals up\non you quieter than Will, and at first you shiver and your teeth chatter and you stamp\nyour feet and dream of mulled wine and nice hot fires. It burns, it does. Nothing burns\nlike the cold. But only for a while. Then it gets inside you and starts to fill you up, and\nafter a while you don’t have the strength to fight it. It’s easier just to sit down or go to\nsleep. They say you don’t feel any pain toward the end. First you go weak and drowsy,\nand everything starts to fade, and then it’s like sinking into a sea of warm milk. Peaceful,\nlike.”\n\n“Such eloquence, Gared,” Ser Waymar observed. “I never suspected you had it in you.”\n\n“I’ve had the cold in me too, lordling.” Gared pulled back his hood, giving Ser Waymar a\ngood long look at the stumps where his ears had been. “Two ears, three toes, and the\nlittle finger off my left hand. I got off light. We found my brother frozen at his watch,\nwith a smile on his face.”\n\nSer Waymar shrugged. “You ought dress more warmly, Gared.”\n\nGared glared at the lordling, the scars around his ear holes flushed red with anger where\nMaester Aemon had cut the ears away. “We’ll see how warm you can dress when the\nwinter comes.” He pulled up his hood and hunched over his garron, silent and sullen.\n\n“If Gared said it was the cold . . . ” Will began.\n\n“Have you drawn any watches this past week, Will?”\n\n“Yes, m’lord.” There never was a week when he did not draw a dozen bloody watches.\nWhat was the man driving at?\n\n“And how did you find the Wall?”\n\n“Weeping,” Will said, frowning. He saw it clear enough, now that the lordling had\npointed it out. “They couldn’t have froze. Not if the Wall was weeping. It wasn’t cold\nenough.”\n\nRoyce nodded. “Bright lad. We’ve had a few light frosts this past week, and a quick flurry\nof snow now and then, but surely no cold fierce enough to kill eight grown men. Men\nclad in fur and leather, let me remind you, with shelter near at hand, and the means of\nmaking fire.” The knight’s smile was cocksure. “Will, lead us there. I would see these\ndead men for myself.”\n"See how that compares to the text in the PDF on Page 9. What has pdftools added and where?
From Jessica and Casey’s text mining workshop: “pdf_text() returns a vector of strings, one for each page of the pdf. So we can mess with it in tidyverse style, let’s turn it into a dataframe, and keep track of the pages. Then we can use stringr::str_split() to break the pages up into individual lines. Each line of the pdf is concluded with a backslash-n, so split on this. We will also add a line number in addition to the page number.”
Some wrangling:
- Split up pages into separate lines (separated by
\n) usingstringr::str_split() - Unnest into regular columns using
tidyr::unnest() - Remove leading/trailing white space with
stringr::str_trim()
got_df <- data.frame(got_text) %>%
mutate(text_full = str_split(got_text, pattern = '\n')) %>%
unnest(text_full) %>%
mutate(text_full = str_trim(text_full))
# Why '\\n' instead of '\n'? Because some symbols (e.g. \, *) need to be called literally with a starting \ to escape the regular expression. For example, \\a for a string actually contains \a. So the string that represents the regular expression '\n' is actually '\\n'.
# Although, this time round, it is working for me with \n alone. Wonders never cease.
# More information: https://cran.r-project.org/web/packages/stringr/vignettes/regular-expressions.html
got_df## # A tibble: 30,233 × 2
## got_text text_full
## <chr> <chr>
## 1 "" ""
## 2 " A GAME OF THRONES\n\n\n Book One of … "A GAME …
## 3 " A GAME OF THRONES\n\n\n Book One of … ""
## 4 " A GAME OF THRONES\n\n\n Book One of … ""
## 5 " A GAME OF THRONES\n\n\n Book One of … "Book On…
## 6 " A GAME OF THRONES\n\n\n Book One of … ""
## 7 " A GAME OF THRONES\n\n\n Book One of … ""
## 8 " A GAME OF THRONES\n\n\n Book One of … "By Geor…
## 9 " A GAME OF THRONES\n\n\n Book One of … "Content…
## 10 " A GAME OF THRONES\n\n\n Book One of … "Maps"
## # ℹ 30,223 more rowsNow each line, on each page, is its own row, with extra starting & trailing spaces removed.
Get the tokens (individual words) in tidy format
Use tidytext::unnest_tokens() (which pulls from the
tokenizer) package, to split columns into tokens. We are
interested in words, so that’s the token we’ll use:
got_tokens <- got_df %>%
unnest_tokens(word, text_full)
got_tokens## # A tibble: 297,814 × 2
## got_text word
## <chr> <chr>
## 1 " A GAME OF THRONES\n\n\n Book One of A So… a
## 2 " A GAME OF THRONES\n\n\n Book One of A So… game
## 3 " A GAME OF THRONES\n\n\n Book One of A So… of
## 4 " A GAME OF THRONES\n\n\n Book One of A So… thro…
## 5 " A GAME OF THRONES\n\n\n Book One of A So… book
## 6 " A GAME OF THRONES\n\n\n Book One of A So… one
## 7 " A GAME OF THRONES\n\n\n Book One of A So… of
## 8 " A GAME OF THRONES\n\n\n Book One of A So… a
## 9 " A GAME OF THRONES\n\n\n Book One of A So… song
## 10 " A GAME OF THRONES\n\n\n Book One of A So… of
## # ℹ 297,804 more rows# See how this differs from `ipcc_df`
# Each word has its own row!Let’s count the words!
got_wc <- got_tokens %>%
count(word) %>%
arrange(-n)
got_wc## # A tibble: 11,826 × 2
## word n
## <chr> <int>
## 1 the 17988
## 2 and 8997
## 3 to 6640
## 4 a 6461
## 5 of 6200
## 6 he 5166
## 7 his 5161
## 8 was 3904
## 9 her 3659
## 10 you 3267
## # ℹ 11,816 more rowsOK…so we notice that a whole bunch of things show up frequently that we might not be interested in (“a”, “the”, “and”, etc.). These are called stop words. Let’s remove them.
Remove stop words:
See ?stop_words and View(stop_words)to look
at documentation for stop words lexicons.
We will remove stop words using
tidyr::anti_join():
?stop_words
stop_words## # A tibble: 1,149 × 2
## word lexicon
## <chr> <chr>
## 1 a SMART
## 2 a's SMART
## 3 able SMART
## 4 about SMART
## 5 above SMART
## 6 according SMART
## 7 accordingly SMART
## 8 across SMART
## 9 actually SMART
## 10 after SMART
## # ℹ 1,139 more rowsgot_stop <- got_tokens %>%
anti_join(stop_words) %>%
select(-got_text)
got_stop## # A tibble: 118,281 × 1
## word
## <chr>
## 1 game
## 2 thrones
## 3 book
## 4 song
## 5 ice
## 6 fire
## 7 george
## 8 r.r
## 9 martin
## 10 contents
## # ℹ 118,271 more rowsNow check the counts again:
got_swc <- got_stop %>%
count(word) %>%
arrange(-n)
got_swc## # A tibble: 11,295 × 2
## word n
## <chr> <int>
## 1 lord 1341
## 2 ser 1023
## 3 jon 787
## 4 ned 743
## 5 tyrion 591
## 6 eyes 567
## 7 hand 567
## 8 king 542
## 9 father 512
## 10 told 504
## # ℹ 11,285 more rowsWhat if we want to get rid of all the numbers (non-text) in
ipcc_stop?
# This code will filter out numbers by asking:
# If you convert to as.numeric, is it NA (meaning those words)?
# If it IS NA (is.na), then keep it (so all words are kept)
# Anything that is converted to a number is removed
got_no_numeric <- got_stop %>%
filter(is.na(as.numeric(word)))
got_no_numeric %>%
count(word) %>%
arrange(-n)## # A tibble: 11,209 × 2
## word n
## <chr> <int>
## 1 lord 1341
## 2 ser 1023
## 3 jon 787
## 4 ned 743
## 5 tyrion 591
## 6 eyes 567
## 7 hand 567
## 8 king 542
## 9 father 512
## 10 told 504
## # ℹ 11,199 more rowsA word cloud of IPCC report words (non-numeric)
See more: https://cran.r-project.org/web/packages/ggwordcloud/vignettes/ggwordcloud.html
# There are almost 2000 unique words
unique(got_stop$word)## [1] "game"
## [2] "thrones"
## [3] "book"
## [4] "song"
## [5] "ice"
## [6] "fire"
## [7] "george"
## [8] "r.r"
## [9] "martin"
## [10] "contents"
## [11] "maps"
## [12] "north"
## [13] "south"
## [14] "prologue"
## [15] "chapter"
## [16] "1"
## [17] "2"
## [18] "3"
## [19] "4"
## [20] "5"
## [21] "6"
## [22] "7"
## [23] "8"
## [24] "9"
## [25] "10"
## [26] "11"
## [27] "12"
## [28] "13"
## [29] "51"
## [30] "14"
## [31] "52"
## [32] "15"
## [33] "53"
## [34] "16"
## [35] "54"
## [36] "17"
## [37] "55"
## [38] "18"
## [39] "56"
## [40] "19"
## [41] "57"
## [42] "20"
## [43] "58"
## [44] "21"
## [45] "59"
## [46] "22"
## [47] "60"
## [48] "23"
## [49] "61"
## [50] "24"
## [51] "62"
## [52] "25"
## [53] "63"
## [54] "26"
## [55] "64"
## [56] "27"
## [57] "65"
## [58] "28"
## [59] "66"
## [60] "29"
## [61] "67"
## [62] "30"
## [63] "68"
## [64] "31"
## [65] "69"
## [66] "32"
## [67] "70"
## [68] "33"
## [69] "71"
## [70] "34"
## [71] "72"
## [72] "35"
## [73] "36"
## [74] "37"
## [75] "appendix"
## [76] "houses"
## [77] "38"
## [78] "39"
## [79] "house"
## [80] "baratheon"
## [81] "greyjoy"
## [82] "40"
## [83] "41"
## [84] "stark"
## [85] "42"
## [86] "martell"
## [87] "43"
## [88] "lannister"
## [89] "44"
## [90] "targaryen"
## [91] "45"
## [92] "arryn"
## [93] "46"
## [94] "47"
## [95] "tully"
## [96] "48"
## [97] "49"
## [98] "50"
## [99] "tyrell"
## [100] "previous"
## [101] "table"
## [102] "start"
## [103] "gared"
## [104] "urged"
## [105] "woods"
## [106] "grow"
## [107] "dark"
## [108] "wildlings"
## [109] "dead"
## [110] "frighten"
## [111] "ser"
## [112] "waymar"
## [113] "royce"
## [114] "hint"
## [115] "smile"
## [116] "rise"
## [117] "bait"
## [118] "past"
## [119] "fifty"
## [120] "lordlings"
## [121] "business"
## [122] "softly"
## [123] "proof"
## [124] "that’s"
## [125] "drag"
## [126] "quarrel"
## [127] "sooner"
## [128] "wished"
## [129] "mother"
## [130] "told"
## [131] "sing"
## [132] "songs"
## [133] "wet"
## [134] "nurse"
## [135] "replied"
## [136] "hear"
## [137] "woman’s"
## [138] "tit"
## [139] "learned"
## [140] "voice"
## [141] "echoed"
## [142] "loud"
## [143] "twilit"
## [144] "forest"
## [145] "ride"
## [146] "days"
## [147] "night"
## [148] "falling"
## [149] "glanced"
## [150] "sky"
## [151] "disinterest"
## [152] "day"
## [153] "time"
## [154] "unmanned"
## [155] "tightness"
## [156] "gared’s"
## [157] "mouth"
## [158] "barely"
## [159] "suppressed"
## [160] "anger"
## [161] "eyes"
## [162] "thick"
## [163] "black"
## [164] "hood"
## [165] "cloak"
## [166] "spent"
## [167] "forty"
## [168] "night’s"
## [169] "watch"
## [170] "boy"
## [171] "accustomed"
## [172] "light"
## [173] "wounded"
## [174] "pride"
## [175] "sense"
## [176] "taste"
## [177] "nervous"
## [178] "tension"
## [179] "perilous"
## [180] "close"
## [181] "fear"
## [182] "shared"
## [183] "unease"
## [184] "wall"
## [185] "stories"
## [186] "rushing"
## [187] "bowels"
## [188] "water"
## [189] "laughed"
## [190] "afterward"
## [191] "veteran"
## [192] "hundred"
## [193] "rangings"
## [194] "endless"
## [195] "wilderness"
## [196] "southron"
## [197] "called"
## [198] "haunted"
## [199] "terrors"
## [200] "tonight"
## [201] "edge"
## [202] "darkness"
## [203] "hackles"
## [204] "riding"
## [205] "northwest"
## [206] "farther"
## [207] "hard"
## [208] "track"
## [209] "band"
## [210] "wildling"
## [211] "raiders"
## [212] "worse"
## [213] "worst"
## [214] "cold"
## [215] "wind"
## [216] "blowing"
## [217] "trees"
## [218] "rustle"
## [219] "living"
## [220] "watching"
## [221] "implacable"
## [222] "loved"
## [223] "hellbent"
## [224] "safety"
## [225] "feeling"
## [226] "share"
## [227] "commander"
## [228] "son"
## [229] "ancient"
## [230] "heirs"
## [231] "handsome"
## [232] "youth"
## [233] "eighteen"
## [234] "grey"
## [235] "eyed"
## [236] "graceful"
## [237] "slender"
## [238] "knife"
## [239] "mounted"
## [240] "huge"
## [241] "destrier"
## [242] "knight"
## [243] "towered"
## [244] "garrons"
## [245] "wore"
## [246] "leather"
## [247] "boots"
## [248] "woolen"
## [249] "pants"
## [250] "moleskin"
## [251] "gloves"
## [252] "fine"
## [253] "supple"
## [254] "coat"
## [255] "gleaming"
## [256] "ringmail"
## [257] "layers"
## [258] "wool"
## [259] "boiled"
## [260] "sworn"
## [261] "brother"
## [262] "half"
## [263] "prepared"
## [264] "vocation"
## [265] "wardrobe"
## [266] "concerned"
## [267] "crowning"
## [268] "glory"
## [269] "sable"
## [270] "soft"
## [271] "sin"
## [272] "bet"
## [273] "killed"
## [274] "barracks"
## [275] "wine"
## [276] "twisted"
## [277] "heads"
## [278] "mighty"
## [279] "warrior"
## [280] "laugh"
## [281] "cups"
## [282] "reflected"
## [283] "sat"
## [284] "shivering"
## [285] "atop"
## [286] "garron"
## [287] "mormont"
## [288] "they’re"
## [289] "shan’t"
## [290] "trouble"
## [291] "there’s"
## [292] "don’t"
## [293] "weather"
## [294] "snows"
## [295] "fortnight"
## [296] "snow’s"
## [297] "hope"
## [298] "storm"
## [299] "lord"
## [300] "lordling"
## [301] "studied"
## [302] "deepening"
## [303] "twilight"
## [304] "bored"
## [305] "distracted"
## [306] "ridden"
## [307] "understand"
## [308] "interrupt"
## [309] "looked"
## [310] "details"
## [311] "leave"
## [312] "hunter"
## [313] "joined"
## [314] "poacher"
## [315] "truth"
## [316] "mallister"
## [317] "freeriders"
## [318] "caught"
## [319] "red"
## [320] "handed"
## [321] "mallisters"
## [322] "skinning"
## [323] "bucks"
## [324] "choice"
## [325] "putting"
## [326] "losing"
## [327] "hand"
## [328] "move"
## [329] "silent"
## [330] "brothers"
## [331] "discover"
## [332] "talent"
## [333] "camp"
## [334] "miles"
## [335] "ridge"
## [336] "stream"
## [337] "dared"
## [338] "women"
## [339] "children"
## [340] "lean"
## [341] "rock"
## [342] "pretty"
## [343] "covered"
## [344] "burning"
## [345] "firepit"
## [346] "plain"
## [347] "moving"
## [348] "watched"
## [349] "lay"
## [350] "blood"
## [351] "admitted"
## [352] "weapons"
## [353] "swords"
## [354] "bows"
## [355] "axe"
## [356] "heavy"
## [357] "double"
## [358] "bladed"
## [359] "cruel"
## [360] "piece"
## [361] "iron"
## [362] "ground"
## [363] "note"
## [364] "position"
## [365] "bodies"
## [366] "shrugged"
## [367] "couple"
## [368] "sitting"
## [369] "fallen"
## [370] "sleeping"
## [371] "suggested"
## [372] "insisted"
## [373] "woman"
## [374] "ironwood"
## [375] "hid"
## [376] "branches"
## [377] "smiled"
## [378] "thinly"
## [379] "care"
## [380] "closer"
## [381] "wasn’t"
## [382] "shivered"
## [383] "chill"
## [384] "muttered"
## [385] "m’lord"
## [386] "grizzled"
## [387] "arms"
## [388] "frostfallen"
## [389] "leaves"
## [390] "whispered"
## [391] "royce’s"
## [392] "moved"
## [393] "restlessly"
## [394] "casually"
## [395] "adjusted"
## [396] "drape"
## [397] "certainty"
## [398] "freeze"
## [399] "winter"
## [400] "talks"
## [401] "foot"
## [402] "deep"
## [403] "howling"
## [404] "real"
## [405] "enemy"
## [406] "steals"
## [407] "quieter"
## [408] "shiver"
## [409] "teeth"
## [410] "chatter"
## [411] "stamp"
## [412] "feet"
## [413] "dream"
## [414] "mulled"
## [415] "nice"
## [416] "hot"
## [417] "fires"
## [418] "burns"
## [419] "inside"
## [420] "starts"
## [421] "fill"
## [422] "strength"
## [423] "fight"
## [424] "it’s"
## [425] "easier"
## [426] "sit"
## [427] "sleep"
## [428] "feel"
## [429] "pain"
## [430] "weak"
## [431] "drowsy"
## [432] "fade"
## [433] "sinking"
## [434] "sea"
## [435] "warm"
## [436] "milk"
## [437] "peaceful"
## [438] "eloquence"
## [439] "observed"
## [440] "suspected"
## [441] "i’ve"
## [442] "pulled"
## [443] "giving"
## [444] "stumps"
## [445] "ears"
## [446] "toes"
## [447] "finger"
## [448] "left"
## [449] "found"
## [450] "frozen"
## [451] "dress"
## [452] "warmly"
## [453] "glared"
## [454] "scars"
## [455] "ear"
## [456] "holes"
## [457] "flushed"
## [458] "maester"
## [459] "aemon"
## [460] "cut"
## [461] "we’ll"
## [462] "hunched"
## [463] "sullen"
## [464] "drawn"
## [465] "watches"
## [466] "week"
## [467] "draw"
## [468] "dozen"
## [469] "bloody"
## [470] "driving"
## [471] "weeping"
## [472] "frowning"
## [473] "couldn’t"
## [474] "froze"
## [475] "nodded"
## [476] "bright"
## [477] "lad"
## [478] "we’ve"
## [479] "frosts"
## [480] "quick"
## [481] "flurry"
## [482] "snow"
## [483] "surely"
## [484] "fierce"
## [485] "kill"
## [486] "grown"
## [487] "clad"
## [488] "fur"
## [489] "remind"
## [490] "shelter"
## [491] "means"
## [492] "knight’s"
## [493] "cocksure"
## [494] "lead"
## [495] "honor"
## [496] "bound"
## [497] "obey"
## [498] "front"
## [499] "shaggy"
## [500] "picking"
## [501] "carefully"
## [502] "undergrowth"
## [503] "stones"
## [504] "roots"
## [505] "hidden"
## [506] "sinks"
## [507] "lying"
## [508] "crust"
## [509] "waiting"
## [510] "careless"
## [511] "unwary"
## [512] "snorting"
## [513] "impatiently"
## [514] "warhorse"
## [515] "wrong"
## [516] "mount"
## [517] "ranging"
## [518] "brought"
## [519] "rear"
## [520] "rode"
## [521] "deepened"
## [522] "cloudless"
## [523] "purple"
## [524] "color"
## [525] "bruise"
## [526] "faded"
## [527] "stars"
## [528] "moon"
## [529] "rose"
## [530] "grateful"
## [531] "pace"
## [532] "risen"
## [533] "horse"
## [534] "insolent"
## [535] "deign"
## [536] "reply"
## [537] "wood"
## [538] "wolf"
## [539] "howled"
## [540] "beneath"
## [541] "gnarled"
## [542] "dismounted"
## [543] "stopping"
## [544] "rest"
## [545] "paused"
## [546] "moment"
## [547] "staring"
## [548] "distance"
## [549] "reflective"
## [550] "stirred"
## [551] "alive"
## [552] "disdainful"
## [553] "can’t"
## [554] "listen"
## [555] "afraid"
## [556] "rustling"
## [557] "sound"
## [558] "unmans"
## [559] "answer"
## [560] "slid"
## [561] "gracefully"
## [562] "saddle"
## [563] "tied"
## [564] "securely"
## [565] "low"
## [566] "hanging"
## [567] "limb"
## [568] "horses"
## [569] "drew"
## [570] "longsword"
## [571] "sheath"
## [572] "jewels"
## [573] "glittered"
## [574] "hilt"
## [575] "moonlight"
## [576] "ran"
## [577] "shining"
## [578] "steel"
## [579] "splendid"
## [580] "weapon"
## [581] "castle"
## [582] "forged"
## [583] "doubted"
## [584] "swung"
## [585] "press"
## [586] "warned"
## [587] "sword"
## [588] "tangle"
## [589] "instruction"
## [590] "stay"
## [591] "guard"
## [592] "i’ll"
## [593] "fool"
## [594] "enemies"
## [595] "bears"
## [596] "direwolves"
## [597] "waymar’s"
## [598] "line"
## [599] "shadowed"
## [600] "glitter"
## [601] "stared"
## [602] "short"
## [603] "ugly"
## [604] "grip"
## [605] "discolored"
## [606] "sweat"
## [607] "nicked"
## [608] "bob"
## [609] "lordling’s"
## [610] "life"
## [611] "scabbard"
## [612] "finally"
## [613] "breath"
## [614] "acquiescence"
## [615] "threaded"
## [616] "thicket"
## [617] "started"
## [618] "slope"
## [619] "vantage"
## [620] "sentinel"
## [621] "tree"
## [622] "thin"
## [623] "damp"
## [624] "muddy"
## [625] "slick"
## [626] "footing"
## [627] "rocks"
## [628] "trip"
## [629] "climbed"
## [630] "heard"
## [631] "metallic"
## [632] "slither"
## [633] "curses"
## [634] "reaching"
## [635] "grabbed"
## [636] "tugged"
## [637] "top"
## [638] "lowest"
## [639] "bare"
## [640] "underneath"
## [641] "flat"
## [642] "belly"
## [643] "mud"
## [644] "empty"
## [645] "clearing"
## [646] "heart"
## [647] "stopped"
## [648] "chest"
## [649] "breathe"
## [650] "shone"
## [651] "ashes"
## [652] "hours"
## [653] "ago"
## [654] "gods"
## [655] "slashed"
## [656] "branch"
## [657] "gained"
## [658] "stood"
## [659] "billowing"
## [660] "outlined"
## [661] "nobly"
## [662] "urgently"
## [663] "something’s"
## [664] "will’s"
## [665] "abandoned"
## [666] "groped"
## [667] "words"
## [668] "swept"
## [669] "campsite"
## [670] "battle"
## [671] "untouched"
## [672] "valuable"
## [673] "commanded"
## [674] "won’t"
## [675] "hiding"
## [676] "bush"
## [677] "reluctantly"
## [678] "obeyed"
## [679] "disapproval"
## [680] "failure"
## [681] "wordless"
## [682] "argue"
## [683] "vaulting"
## [684] "green"
## [685] "climb"
## [686] "hands"
## [687] "sticky"
## [688] "sap"
## [689] "lost"
## [690] "needles"
## [691] "filled"
## [692] "gut"
## [693] "meal"
## [694] "digest"
## [695] "prayer"
## [696] "nameless"
## [697] "slipped"
## [698] "dirk"
## [699] "free"
## [700] "climbing"
## [701] "comfort"
## [702] "suddenly"
## [703] "uncertainty"
## [704] "challenge"
## [705] "listened"
## [706] "icy"
## [707] "rush"
## [708] "distant"
## [709] "hoot"
## [710] "owl"
## [711] "movement"
## [712] "corner"
## [713] "eye"
## [714] "pale"
## [715] "shapes"
## [716] "gliding"
## [717] "head"
## [718] "glimpsed"
## [719] "white"
## [720] "shadow"
## [721] "gently"
## [722] "scratching"
## [723] "wooden"
## [724] "fingers"
## [725] "call"
## [726] "warning"
## [727] "throat"
## [728] "bird"
## [729] "reflection"
## [730] "trick"
## [731] "slow"
## [732] "circle"
## [733] "wary"
## [734] "clung"
## [735] "tightly"
## [736] "perch"
## [737] "pressed"
## [738] "trunk"
## [739] "sweet"
## [740] "cheek"
## [741] "emerged"
## [742] "tall"
## [743] "gaunt"
## [744] "bones"
## [745] "flesh"
## [746] "armor"
## [747] "change"
## [748] "dappled"
## [749] "patterns"
## [750] "step"
## [751] "hiss"
## [752] "cracked"
## [753] "boy’s"
## [754] "threw"
## [755] "shoulders"
## [756] "forward"
## [757] "human"
## [758] "metal"
## [759] "forging"
## [760] "blade"
## [761] "translucent"
## [762] "shard"
## [763] "crystal"
## [764] "vanish"
## [765] "faint"
## [766] "blue"
## [767] "shimmer"
## [768] "ghost"
## [769] "played"
## [770] "edges"
## [771] "sharper"
## [772] "razor"
## [773] "met"
## [774] "bravely"
## [775] "dance"
## [776] "lifted"
## [777] "defiant"
## [778] "trembled"
## [779] "weight"
## [780] "halted"
## [781] "deeper"
## [782] "bluer"
## [783] "burned"
## [784] "fixed"
## [785] "trembling"
## [786] "running"
## [787] "heartbeat"
## [788] "silently"
## [789] "shadows"
## [790] "twins"
## [791] "duty"
## [792] "death"
## [793] "hugged"
## [794] "silence"
## [795] "air"
## [796] "blades"
## [797] "ring"
## [798] "hearing"
## [799] "animal"
## [800] "screaming"
## [801] "checked"
## [802] "blow"
## [803] "fell"
## [804] "blows"
## [805] "watchers"
## [806] "patient"
## [807] "faceless"
## [808] "shifting"
## [809] "delicate"
## [810] "invisible"
## [811] "interfere"
## [812] "cover"
## [813] "strange"
## [814] "anguished"
## [815] "keening"
## [816] "clash"
## [817] "panting"
## [818] "effort"
## [819] "steaming"
## [820] "frost"
## [821] "other’s"
## [822] "danced"
## [823] "parry"
## [824] "beat"
## [825] "late"
## [826] "bit"
## [827] "arm"
## [828] "cried"
## [829] "welled"
## [830] "rings"
## [831] "steamed"
## [832] "droplets"
## [833] "touched"
## [834] "brushed"
## [835] "glove"
## [836] "soaked"
## [837] "language"
## [838] "cracking"
## [839] "lake"
## [840] "mocking"
## [841] "fury"
## [842] "robert"
## [843] "shouted"
## [844] "snarling"
## [845] "lifting"
## [846] "swinging"
## [847] "sidearm"
## [848] "slash"
## [849] "lazy"
## [850] "shattered"
## [851] "scream"
## [852] "brittle"
## [853] "pieces"
## [854] "shards"
## [855] "scattering"
## [856] "rain"
## [857] "knees"
## [858] "shrieking"
## [859] "signal"
## [860] "deathly"
## [861] "butchery"
## [862] "sliced"
## [863] "silk"
## [864] "closed"
## [865] "voices"
## [866] "laughter"
## [867] "sharp"
## [868] "icicles"
## [869] "courage"
## [870] "passed"
## [871] "stayed"
## [872] "scarce"
## [873] "daring"
## [874] "crept"
## [875] "slowly"
## [876] "muscles"
## [877] "cramping"
## [878] "numb"
## [879] "body"
## [880] "facedown"
## [881] "outflung"
## [882] "splintered"
## [883] "struck"
## [884] "lightning"
## [885] "knelt"
## [886] "warily"
## [887] "snatched"
## [888] "broken"
## [889] "bear"
## [890] "hurry"
## [891] "clothes"
## [892] "tatter"
## [893] "ruin"
## [894] "transfixed"
## [895] "blind"
## [896] "pupil"
## [897] "nerveless"
## [898] "pray"
## [899] "elegant"
## [900] "tightened"
## [901] "gloved"
## [902] "finest"
## [903] "touch"
## [904] "bran"
## [905] "morning"
## [906] "dawned"
## [907] "crispness"
## [908] "hinted"
## [909] "summer"
## [910] "set"
## [911] "daybreak"
## [912] "beheaded"
## [913] "twenty"
## [914] "excitement"
## [915] "deemed"
## [916] "father"
## [917] "king’s"
## [918] "justice"
## [919] "ninth"
## [920] "seventh"
## [921] "bran’s"
## [922] "holdfast"
## [923] "hills"
## [924] "robb"
## [925] "mance"
## [926] "rayder"
## [927] "king"
## [928] "skin"
## [929] "prickle"
## [930] "remembered"
## [931] "hearth"
## [932] "tales"
## [933] "nan"
## [934] "slavers"
## [935] "slayers"
## [936] "thieves"
## [937] "consorted"
## [938] "giants"
## [939] "ghouls"
## [940] "stole"
## [941] "girl"
## [942] "drank"
## [943] "polished"
## [944] "horns"
## [945] "sire"
## [946] "terrible"
## [947] "awaiting"
## [948] "scrawny"
## [949] "taller"
## [950] "frostbite"
## [951] "dressed"
## [952] "furs"
## [953] "ragged"
## [954] "greasy"
## [955] "mingled"
## [956] "dragged"
## [957] "jon"
## [958] "pony"
## [959] "pretend"
## [960] "he’d"
## [961] "blew"
## [962] "gate"
## [963] "flapped"
## [964] "banner"
## [965] "starks"
## [966] "winterfell"
## [967] "direwolf"
## [968] "racing"
## [969] "field"
## [970] "solemnly"
## [971] "brown"
## [972] "hair"
## [973] "stirring"
## [974] "closely"
## [975] "trimmed"
## [976] "beard"
## [977] "shot"
## [978] "thirty"
## [979] "grim"
## [980] "cast"
## [981] "evening"
## [982] "talk"
## [983] "age"
## [984] "heroes"
## [985] "father’s"
## [986] "donned"
## [987] "questions"
## [988] "answers"
## [989] "recall"
## [990] "command"
## [991] "guardsmen"
## [992] "stump"
## [993] "center"
## [994] "square"
## [995] "forced"
## [996] "eddard"
## [997] "ward"
## [998] "theon"
## [999] "wide"
## [1000] "man’s"
## [1001] "valyrian"
## [1002] "spell"
## [1003] "smoke"
## [1004] "held"
## [1005] "peeled"
## [1006] "jory"
## [1007] "cassel"
## [1008] "captain"
## [1009] "household"
## [1010] "hold"
## [1011] "andals"
## [1012] "rhoynar"
## [1013] "kingdoms"
## [1014] "protector"
## [1015] "realm"
## [1016] "word"
## [1017] "warden"
## [1018] "sentence"
## [1019] "die"
## [1020] "greatsword"
## [1021] "bastard"
## [1022] "single"
## [1023] "stroke"
## [1024] "sprayed"
## [1025] "surnmerwine"
## [1026] "reared"
## [1027] "restrained"
## [1028] "bolting"
## [1029] "eagerly"
## [1030] "reddening"
## [1031] "bounced"
## [1032] "root"
## [1033] "rolled"
## [1034] "greyjoy’s"
## [1035] "nineteen"
## [1036] "amusing"
## [1037] "boot"
## [1038] "kicked"
## [1039] "ass"
## [1040] "shoulder"
## [1041] "fourteen"
## [1042] "colder"
## [1043] "died"
## [1044] "sun"
## [1045] "ahead"
## [1046] "main"
## [1047] "party"
## [1048] "struggling"
## [1049] "deserter"
## [1050] "broad"
## [1051] "growing"
## [1052] "mother’s"
## [1053] "coloring"
## [1054] "fair"
## [1055] "tullys"
## [1056] "riverrun"
## [1057] "quietly"
## [1058] "jon’s"
## [1059] "alike"
## [1060] "muscular"
## [1061] "strong"
## [1062] "fast"
## [1063] "impressed"
## [1064] "swore"
## [1065] "race"
## [1066] "bridge"
## [1067] "kicking"
## [1068] "cursed"
## [1069] "galloped"
## [1070] "trail"
## [1071] "laughing"
## [1072] "hooting"
## [1073] "intent"
## [1074] "hooves"
## [1075] "showers"
## [1076] "follow"
## [1077] "thinking"
## [1078] "robb’s"
## [1079] "receded"
## [1080] "grew"
## [1081] "unkindly"
## [1082] "wrapped"
## [1083] "leathers"
## [1084] "loomed"
## [1085] "giant"
## [1086] "brave"
## [1087] "he’s"
## [1088] "carry"
## [1089] "sell"
## [1090] "telling"
## [1091] "oathbreaker"
## [1092] "dangerous"
## [1093] "forfeit"
## [1094] "flinch"
## [1095] "crime"
## [1096] "matter"
## [1097] "vile"
## [1098] "mistake"
## [1099] "question"
## [1100] "headsman"
## [1101] "uncertainly"
## [1102] "kings"
## [1103] "flows"
## [1104] "veins"
## [1105] "belief"
## [1106] "passes"
## [1107] "swing"
## [1108] "owe"
## [1109] "final"
## [1110] "deserve"
## [1111] "bannerman"
## [1112] "holding"
## [1113] "fall"
## [1114] "pleasure"
## [1115] "task"
## [1116] "ruler"
## [1117] "hides"
## [1118] "paid"
## [1119] "executioners"
## [1120] "forgets"
## [1121] "reappeared"
## [1122] "crest"
## [1123] "hill"
## [1124] "waved"
## [1125] "quickly"
## [1126] "doubt"
## [1127] "mischief"
## [1128] "sons"
## [1129] "rooted"
## [1130] "trot"
## [1131] "riverbank"
## [1132] "moonturn"
## [1133] "knee"
## [1134] "cradling"
## [1135] "boys"
## [1136] "talked"
## [1137] "hushed"
## [1138] "excited"
## [1139] "riders"
## [1140] "picked"
## [1141] "drifts"
## [1142] "groping"
## [1143] "solid"
## [1144] "uneven"
## [1145] "reach"
## [1146] "joking"
## [1147] "exclaimed"
## [1148] "control"
## [1149] "reached"
## [1150] "jory’s"
## [1151] "grinned"
## [1152] "bundle"
## [1153] "hurt"
## [1154] "she’s"
## [1155] "afire"
## [1156] "curiosity"
## [1157] "spurred"
## [1158] "faster"
## [1159] "dismount"
## [1160] "approach"
## [1161] "jumped"
## [1162] "hells"
## [1163] "freak"
## [1164] "size"
## [1165] "thumping"
## [1166] "pushed"
## [1167] "waist"
## [1168] "drift"
## [1169] "buried"
## [1170] "bloodstained"
## [1171] "shape"
## [1172] "slumped"
## [1173] "formed"
## [1174] "smell"
## [1175] "corruption"
## [1176] "perfume"
## [1177] "crawling"
## [1178] "maggots"
## [1179] "yellowed"
## [1180] "gasp"
## [1181] "bigger"
## [1182] "largest"
## [1183] "hound"
## [1184] "kennel"
## [1185] "calmly"
## [1186] "larger"
## [1187] "sighted"
## [1188] "tore"
## [1189] "monster"
## [1190] "noticed"
## [1191] "cry"
## [1192] "delight"
## [1193] "pup"
## [1194] "tiny"
## [1195] "ball"
## [1196] "nuzzled"
## [1197] "blindly"
## [1198] "cradled"
## [1199] "searching"
## [1200] "sad"
## [1201] "whimpery"
## [1202] "hesitantly"
## [1203] "loose"
## [1204] "hullen"
## [1205] "master"
## [1206] "sign"
## [1207] "frowned"
## [1208] "troubled"
## [1209] "crunched"
## [1210] "proud"
## [1211] "jaw"
## [1212] "beast’s"
## [1213] "yank"
## [1214] "antler"
## [1215] "tines"
## [1216] "snapped"
## [1217] "sudden"
## [1218] "descended"
## [1219] "uneasily"
## [1220] "speak"
## [1221] "tossed"
## [1222] "cleansed"
## [1223] "i’m"
## [1224] "surprised"
## [1225] "lived"
## [1226] "whelp"
## [1227] "broke"
## [1228] "didn’t"
## [1229] "bitch"
## [1230] "pups"
## [1231] "born"
## [1232] "luck"
## [1233] "dismay"
## [1234] "agreed"
## [1235] "beast"
## [1236] "squirmed"
## [1237] "understood"
## [1238] "fiercely"
## [1239] "mine"
## [1240] "sounded"
## [1241] "commanding"
## [1242] "someday"
## [1243] "harwin"
## [1244] "hullen’s"
## [1245] "mercy"
## [1246] "rescue"
## [1247] "frown"
## [1248] "furrowed"
## [1249] "brow"
## [1250] "speaks"
## [1251] "swift"
## [1252] "starvation"
## [1253] "tears"
## [1254] "welling"
## [1255] "resisted"
## [1256] "stubbornly"
## [1257] "rodrik’s"
## [1258] "whelped"
## [1259] "litter"
## [1260] "live"
## [1261] "she’ll"
## [1262] "rip"
## [1263] "formal"
## [1264] "desperate"
## [1265] "male"
## [1266] "female"
## [1267] "trueborn"
## [1268] "daughters"
## [1269] "sigil"
## [1270] "meant"
## [1271] "exchange"
## [1272] "glances"
## [1273] "count"
## [1274] "omitted"
## [1275] "included"
## [1276] "girls"
## [1277] "rickon"
## [1278] "baby"
## [1279] "bore"
## [1280] "surname"
## [1281] "custom"
## [1282] "decreed"
## [1283] "unlucky"
## [1284] "graces"
## [1285] "banners"
## [1286] "regarded"
## [1287] "thoughtfully"
## [1288] "rushed"
## [1289] "promised"
## [1290] "soak"
## [1291] "towel"
## [1292] "suck"
## [1293] "weighed"
## [1294] "easy"
## [1295] "harder"
## [1296] "wasting"
## [1297] "servants"
## [1298] "feed"
## [1299] "grasp"
## [1300] "licked"
## [1301] "tongue"
## [1302] "train"
## [1303] "kennelmaster"
## [1304] "monsters"
## [1305] "promise"
## [1306] "neglect"
## [1307] "brutalize"
## [1308] "badly"
## [1309] "dogs"
## [1310] "beg"
## [1311] "treats"
## [1312] "slink"
## [1313] "kick"
## [1314] "easily"
## [1315] "dog"
## [1316] "rat"
## [1317] "desmond"
## [1318] "gather"
## [1319] "allowed"
## [1320] "victory"
## [1321] "snuggled"
## [1322] "safe"
## [1323] "home"
## [1324] "wondering"
## [1325] "halfway"
## [1326] "clatter"
## [1327] "planks"
## [1328] "whimpering"
## [1329] "hungry"
## [1330] "listening"
## [1331] "kneel"
## [1332] "smiling"
## [1333] "crawled"
## [1334] "driven"
## [1335] "sixth"
## [1336] "curious"
## [1337] "albino"
## [1338] "wry"
## [1339] "amusement"
## [1340] "chilling"
## [1341] "belongs"
## [1342] "catelyn"
## [1343] "godswood"
## [1344] "fork"
## [1345] "trident"
## [1346] "garden"
## [1347] "airy"
## [1348] "redwoods"
## [1349] "spread"
## [1350] "tinkling"
## [1351] "streams"
## [1352] "birds"
## [1353] "sang"
## [1354] "nests"
## [1355] "spicy"
## [1356] "scent"
## [1357] "flowers"
## [1358] "sort"
## [1359] "primal"
## [1360] "acres"
## [1361] "ten"
## [1362] "thousand"
## [1363] "gloomy"
## [1364] "smelled"
## [1365] "moist"
## [1366] "earth"
## [1367] "decay"
## [1368] "stubborn"
## [1369] "armored"
## [1370] "oaks"
## [1371] "ironwoods"
## [1372] "trunks"
## [1373] "crowded"
## [1374] "wove"
## [1375] "dense"
## [1376] "canopy"
## [1377] "overhead"
## [1378] "misshappen"
## [1379] "wrestled"
## [1380] "soil"
## [1381] "brooding"
## [1382] "names"
## [1383] "husband"
## [1384] "seek"
## [1385] "quiet"
## [1386] "anointed"
## [1387] "oils"
## [1388] "named"
## [1389] "rainbow"
## [1390] "sept"
## [1391] "faith"
## [1392] "grandfather"
## [1393] "familiar"
## [1394] "parents"
## [1395] "worship"
## [1396] "septon"
## [1397] "censer"
## [1398] "incense"
## [1399] "sided"
## [1400] "raised"
## [1401] "walk"
## [1402] "read"
## [1403] "lie"
## [1404] "sake"
## [1405] "ned"
## [1406] "built"
## [1407] "god"
## [1408] "flowed"
## [1409] "greenwood"
## [1410] "vanished"
## [1411] "grove"
## [1412] "weirwood"
## [1413] "brooded"
## [1414] "pool"
## [1415] "waters"
## [1416] "weirwood’s"
## [1417] "bark"
## [1418] "bone"
## [1419] "carved"
## [1420] "features"
## [1421] "melancholy"
## [1422] "dried"
## [1423] "strangely"
## [1424] "watchful"
## [1425] "brandon"
## [1426] "builder"
## [1427] "stone"
## [1428] "true"
## [1429] "castle’s"
## [1430] "granite"
## [1431] "walls"
## [1432] "dawn"
## [1433] "centuries"
## [1434] "coming"
## [1435] "narrow"
## [1436] "weirwoods"
## [1437] "isle"
## [1438] "seated"
## [1439] "moss"
## [1440] "lap"
## [1441] "cleaning"
## [1442] "humus"
## [1443] "floor"
## [1444] "swallowing"
## [1445] "kitchen"
## [1446] "arguing"
## [1447] "ignore"
## [1448] "arya"
## [1449] "love"
## [1450] "sansa"
## [1451] "charmed"
## [1452] "gracious"
## [1453] "learn"
## [1454] "fears"
## [1455] "forever"
## [1456] "noble"
## [1457] "family"
## [1458] "mottoes"
## [1459] "touchstones"
## [1460] "prayers"
## [1461] "sorts"
## [1462] "boasted"
## [1463] "loyalty"
## [1464] "people"
## [1465] "northerners"
## [1466] "swatch"
## [1467] "oiled"
## [1468] "lightly"
## [1469] "spoke"
## [1470] "polishing"
## [1471] "glow"
## [1472] "glad"
## [1473] "stroked"
## [1474] "rippling"
## [1475] "folded"
## [1476] "times"
## [1477] "deny"
## [1478] "beauty"
## [1479] "valyria"
## [1480] "doom"
## [1481] "freehold"
## [1482] "ironsmiths"
## [1483] "spells"
## [1484] "hammers"
## [1485] "legacy"
## [1486] "fourth"
## [1487] "grimly"
## [1488] "poor"
## [1489] "mad"
## [1490] "sighed"
## [1491] "ben"
## [1492] "writes"
## [1493] "desertions"
## [1494] "cool"
## [1495] "length"
## [1496] "deal"
## [1497] "shudder"
## [1498] "dread"
## [1499] "darker"
## [1500] "gentle"
## [1501] "nan’s"
## [1502] "luwin"
## [1503] "reminded"
## [1504] "rueful"
## [1505] "crib"
## [1506] "lady"
## [1507] "husband’s"
## [1508] "grievous"
## [1509] "news"
## [1510] "soften"
## [1511] "straight"
## [1512] "fostered"
## [1513] "eyrie"
## [1514] "childless"
## [1515] "fellow"
## [1516] "aerys"
## [1517] "ii"
## [1518] "demanded"
## [1519] "falcon"
## [1520] "revolt"
## [1521] "pledged"
## [1522] "protect"
## [1523] "fifteen"
## [1524] "wed"
## [1525] "sisters"
## [1526] "hoster"
## [1527] "seal"
## [1528] "letter"
## [1529] "robert’s"
## [1530] "saved"
## [1531] "pycelle"
## [1532] "helpless"
## [1533] "poppy"
## [1534] "linger"
## [1535] "suppose"
## [1536] "grief"
## [1537] "sister"
## [1538] "message"
## [1539] "returned"
## [1540] "lonely"
## [1541] "memory"
## [1542] "haunt"
## [1543] "friends"
## [1544] "uncle"
## [1545] "waits"
## [1546] "vale"
## [1547] "i’d"
## [1548] "brynden"
## [1549] "halls"
## [1550] "noise"
## [1551] "shouts"
## [1552] "lysa"
## [1553] "tidings"
## [1554] "comprehend"
## [1555] "understanding"
## [1556] "joy"
## [1557] "yards"
## [1558] "coiled"
## [1559] "snake"
## [1560] "signs"
## [1561] "send"
## [1562] "swiftest"
## [1563] "damnation"
## [1564] "notice"
## [1565] "knights"
## [1566] "retainers"
## [1567] "cersei"
## [1568] "travel"
## [1569] "sakes"
## [1570] "prepare"
## [1571] "queen’s"
## [1572] "grimaced"
## [1573] "lannisters"
## [1574] "casterly"
## [1575] "forgiven"
## [1576] "price"
## [1577] "company"
## [1578] "infestation"
## [1579] "sounds"
## [1580] "bringing"
## [1581] "court"
## [1582] "sucking"
## [1583] "teat"
## [1584] "prince"
## [1585] "tommen"
## [1586] "queen"
## [1587] "passing"
## [1588] "squeezed"
## [1589] "feast"
## [1590] "singers"
## [1591] "hunt"
## [1592] "meet"
## [1593] "kingsroad"
## [1594] "escort"
## [1595] "damn"
## [1596] "royal"
## [1597] "hide"
## [1598] "daenerys"
## [1599] "gown"
## [1600] "inspection"
## [1601] "caress"
## [1602] "fabric"
## [1603] "dany"
## [1604] "cloth"
## [1605] "smooth"
## [1606] "run"
## [1607] "remember"
## [1608] "wearing"
## [1609] "frightened"
## [1610] "gift"
## [1611] "magister"
## [1612] "illyrio"
## [1613] "viserys"
## [1614] "mood"
## [1615] "bring"
## [1616] "violet"
## [1617] "gold"
## [1618] "princess"
## [1619] "forgotten"
## [1620] "nigh"
## [1621] "magister’s"
## [1622] "eating"
## [1623] "food"
## [1624] "pampered"
## [1625] "thirteen"
## [1626] "gifts"
## [1627] "seldom"
## [1628] "city"
## [1629] "pentos"
## [1630] "feverish"
## [1631] "lilac"
## [1632] "forget"
## [1633] "throne"
## [1634] "dealer"
## [1635] "spices"
## [1636] "gemstones"
## [1637] "dragonbone"
## [1638] "savory"
## [1639] "cities"
## [1640] "vaes"
## [1641] "dothrak"
## [1642] "fabled"
## [1643] "lands"
## [1644] "jade"
## [1645] "friend"
## [1646] "wouldn’t"
## [1647] "cheerfully"
## [1648] "streets"
## [1649] "webs"
## [1650] "roused"
## [1651] "waking"
## [1652] "dragon"
## [1653] "hung"
## [1654] "door"
## [1655] "slaves"
## [1656] "bathe"
## [1657] "wash"
## [1658] "stink"
## [1659] "stables"
## [1660] "khal"
## [1661] "drogo"
## [1662] "critically"
## [1663] "slouch"
## [1664] "straighten"
## [1665] "budding"
## [1666] "breasts"
## [1667] "nipple"
## [1668] "fail"
## [1669] "wake"
## [1670] "pinch"
## [1671] "cruelly"
## [1672] "rough"
## [1673] "tunic"
## [1674] "repeated"
## [1675] "meekly"
## [1676] "affection"
## [1677] "write"
## [1678] "history"
## [1679] "reign"
## [1680] "window"
## [1681] "wistfully"
## [1682] "bay"
## [1683] "brick"
## [1684] "towers"
## [1685] "silhouettes"
## [1686] "setting"
## [1687] "singing"
## [1688] "priests"
## [1689] "lit"
## [1690] "playing"
## [1691] "games"
## [1692] "estate"
## [1693] "barefoot"
## [1694] "breathless"
## [1695] "tatters"
## [1696] "future"
## [1697] "attend"
## [1698] "drogo’s"
## [1699] "manse"
## [1700] "sunset"
## [1701] "land"
## [1702] "flowered"
## [1703] "plains"
## [1704] "rivers"
## [1705] "amidst"
## [1706] "magnificent"
## [1707] "mountains"
## [1708] "lords"
## [1709] "dothraki"
## [1710] "rhaesh"
## [1711] "andahli"
## [1712] "westeros"
## [1713] "simpler"
## [1714] "treachery"
## [1715] "steal"
## [1716] "remembers"
## [1717] "highgarden"
## [1718] "dorne"
## [1719] "fled"
## [1720] "landing"
## [1721] "escape"
## [1722] "advancing"
## [1723] "armies"
## [1724] "usurper"
## [1725] "quickening"
## [1726] "womb"
## [1727] "picture"
## [1728] "midnight"
## [1729] "flight"
## [1730] "dragonstone"
## [1731] "shimmering"
## [1732] "ship’s"
## [1733] "sails"
## [1734] "rhaegar"
## [1735] "battling"
## [1736] "dying"
## [1737] "sack"
## [1738] "usurper’s"
## [1739] "elia"
## [1740] "pleading"
## [1741] "rhaegar’s"
## [1742] "heir"
## [1743] "ripped"
## [1744] "breast"
## [1745] "murdered"
## [1746] "skulls"
## [1747] "dragons"
## [1748] "sightlessly"
## [1749] "kingslayer"
## [1750] "golden"
## [1751] "moons"
## [1752] "raging"
## [1753] "threatened"
## [1754] "island"
## [1755] "fastness"
## [1756] "fleet"
## [1757] "smashed"
## [1758] "anchor"
## [1759] "blocks"
## [1760] "parapets"
## [1761] "hurtling"
## [1762] "wild"
## [1763] "birthing"
## [1764] "sail"
## [1765] "seat"
## [1766] "remained"
## [1767] "remain"
## [1768] "garrison"
## [1769] "willem"
## [1770] "darry"
## [1771] "loyal"
## [1772] "nursery"
## [1773] "stolen"
## [1774] "braavosian"
## [1775] "coast"
## [1776] "dimly"
## [1777] "roaring"
## [1778] "bellowing"
## [1779] "sickbed"
## [1780] "terror"
## [1781] "bed"
## [1782] "sickness"
## [1783] "sickly"
## [1784] "odor"
## [1785] "braavos"
## [1786] "lemon"
## [1787] "money"
## [1788] "wandered"
## [1789] "myr"
## [1790] "tyrosh"
## [1791] "qohor"
## [1792] "volantis"
## [1793] "lys"
## [1794] "staying"
## [1795] "hired"
## [1796] "knives"
## [1797] "magisters"
## [1798] "archons"
## [1799] "merchant"
## [1800] "princes"
## [1801] "pleased"
## [1802] "targaryens"
## [1803] "homes"
## [1804] "tables"
## [1805] "continued"
## [1806] "doors"
## [1807] "lives"
## [1808] "meaner"
## [1809] "treasures"
## [1810] "coin"
## [1811] "crown"
## [1812] "alleys"
## [1813] "beggar"
## [1814] "shook"
## [1815] "silks"
## [1816] "childhood"
## [1817] "knock"
## [1818] "illyrio’s"
## [1819] "entered"
## [1820] "bowed"
## [1821] "slavery"
## [1822] "nonetheless"
## [1823] "mouse"
## [1824] "favorite"
## [1825] "haired"
## [1826] "wench"
## [1827] "sixteen"
## [1828] "chattered"
## [1829] "constantly"
## [1830] "bath"
## [1831] "scented"
## [1832] "fragrant"
## [1833] "cotton"
## [1834] "dany’s"
## [1835] "helped"
## [1836] "tub"
## [1837] "scalding"
## [1838] "heat"
## [1839] "clean"
## [1840] "washed"
## [1841] "silver"
## [1842] "combed"
## [1843] "snags"
## [1844] "scrubbed"
## [1845] "lucky"
## [1846] "rich"
## [1847] "wear"
## [1848] "collars"
## [1849] "khalasar"
## [1850] "palace"
## [1851] "fearless"
## [1852] "rider"
## [1853] "demon"
## [1854] "archer"
## [1855] "assumed"
## [1856] "married"
## [1857] "aegon"
## [1858] "conqueror"
## [1859] "bride"
## [1860] "pure"
## [1861] "kingsblood"
## [1862] "mate"
## [1863] "beasts"
## [1864] "mingle"
## [1865] "lesser"
## [1866] "schemed"
## [1867] "stranger"
## [1868] "barbarian"
## [1869] "toweled"
## [1870] "dry"
## [1871] "molten"
## [1872] "spiceflower"
## [1873] "dab"
## [1874] "wrist"
## [1875] "tips"
## [1876] "lips"
## [1877] "legs"
## [1878] "wisps"
## [1879] "plum"
## [1880] "gilded"
## [1881] "sandals"
## [1882] "tiara"
## [1883] "bracelets"
## [1884] "crusted"
## [1885] "amethysts"
## [1886] "wrists"
## [1887] "collar"
## [1888] "torc"
## [1889] "emblazoned"
## [1890] "glyphs"
## [1891] "breathlessly"
## [1892] "image"
## [1893] "silvered"
## [1894] "glass"
## [1895] "provided"
## [1896] "gooseflesh"
## [1897] "pimpled"
## [1898] "entry"
## [1899] "hall"
## [1900] "trailing"
## [1901] "appeared"
## [1902] "stand"
## [1903] "regal"
## [1904] "stepping"
## [1905] "archway"
## [1906] "surprising"
## [1907] "delicacy"
## [1908] "massive"
## [1909] "garments"
## [1910] "flame"
## [1911] "colored"
## [1912] "rolls"
## [1913] "fat"
## [1914] "jiggled"
## [1915] "walked"
## [1916] "forked"
## [1917] "yellow"
## [1918] "shower"
## [1919] "blessings"
## [1920] "fortunate"
## [1921] "glimpse"
## [1922] "crooked"
## [1923] "vision"
## [1924] "grace"
## [1925] "enraptured"
## [1926] "skinny"
## [1927] "blond"
## [1928] "fastened"
## [1929] "brooch"
## [1930] "severe"
## [1931] "emphasized"
## [1932] "lines"
## [1933] "rested"
## [1934] "lent"
## [1935] "likes"
## [1936] "highborn"
## [1937] "daughter"
## [1938] "entrance"
## [1939] "released"
## [1940] "doubtfully"
## [1941] "savages"
## [1942] "queer"
## [1943] "tastes"
## [1944] "sheep"
## [1945] "suggest"
## [1946] "flashed"
## [1947] "brother’s"
## [1948] "slightly"
## [1949] "lack"
## [1950] "caution"
## [1951] "common"
## [1952] "apologies"
## [1953] "offense"
## [1954] "clapped"
## [1955] "bearers"
## [1956] "pitch"
## [1957] "elaborately"
## [1958] "palanquin"
## [1959] "carrying"
## [1960] "ornate"
## [1961] "oil"
## [1962] "lanterns"
## [1963] "panes"
## [1964] "hoisted"
## [1965] "poles"
## [1966] "curtains"
## [1967] "stench"
## [1968] "pallid"
## [1969] "perfumes"
## [1970] "sprawled"
## [1971] "pillows"
## [1972] "mind"
## [1973] "toyed"
## [1974] "borrowed"
## [1975] "earnest"
## [1976] "sweep"
## [1977] "screamers"
## [1978] "rightful"
## [1979] "redwyne"
## [1980] "dornishmen"
## [1981] "burn"
## [1982] "avenge"
## [1983] "smallfolk"
## [1984] "anxiously"
## [1985] "amiably"
## [1986] "holdfasts"
## [1987] "lift"
## [1988] "secret"
## [1989] "toasts"
## [1990] "health"
## [1991] "sew"
## [1992] "return"
## [1993] "shrug"
## [1994] "agents"
## [1995] "knowing"
## [1996] "mistrusted"
## [1997] "nodding"
## [1998] "fitting"
## [1999] "curtain"
## [2000] "fighting"
## [2001] "overgrown"
## [2002] "ivy"
## [2003] "generous"
## [2004] "horselords"
## [2005] "barbarians"
## [2006] "explain"
## [2007] "million"
## [2008] "chances"
## [2009] "friendship"
## [2010] "cheap"
## [2011] "roughly"
## [2012] "guards"
## [2013] "copper"
## [2014] "almond"
## [2015] "hairless"
## [2016] "spiked"
## [2017] "bronze"
## [2018] "cap"
## [2019] "unsullied"
## [2020] "coldly"
## [2021] "growled"
## [2022] "guardsman"
## [2023] "gates"
## [2024] "clenched"
## [2025] "eunuch"
## [2026] "lurched"
## [2027] "honey"
## [2028] "guests"
## [2029] "chief"
## [2030] "pay"
## [2031] "darkly"
## [2032] "slowed"
## [2033] "thrown"
## [2034] "slave"
## [2035] "offered"
## [2036] "noted"
## [2037] "ordinary"
## [2038] "pinchfire"
## [2039] "cinnamon"
## [2040] "escorted"
## [2041] "mosaic"
## [2042] "depicted"
## [2043] "arch"
## [2044] "twining"
## [2045] "stormborn"
## [2046] "honorable"
## [2047] "host"
## [2048] "mopatis"
## [2049] "stepped"
## [2050] "pillared"
## [2051] "courtyard"
## [2052] "painted"
## [2053] "shades"
## [2054] "drifted"
## [2055] "drooping"
## [2056] "mustachios"
## [2057] "braided"
## [2058] "bells"
## [2059] "bravos"
## [2060] "sellswords"
## [2061] "priest"
## [2062] "fatter"
## [2063] "hairy"
## [2064] "port"
## [2065] "ibben"
## [2066] "isles"
## [2067] "ebony"
## [2068] "realized"
## [2069] "bloodriders"
## [2070] "pillar"
## [2071] "moro"
## [2072] "rhogoro"
## [2073] "archon"
## [2074] "jorah"
## [2075] "blurted"
## [2076] "trifling"
## [2077] "affront"
## [2078] "sold"
## [2079] "poachers"
## [2080] "tyroshi"
## [2081] "slaver"
## [2082] "absurd"
## [2083] "law"
## [2084] "chattel"
## [2085] "curiously"
## [2086] "balding"
## [2087] "fit"
## [2088] "cottons"
## [2089] "embroidered"
## [2090] "likeness"
## [2091] "standing"
## [2092] "homeland"
## [2093] "displeased"
## [2094] "hoped"
## [2095] "tallest"
## [2096] "panther"
## [2097] "menagerie"
## [2098] "she’d"
## [2099] "submissions"
## [2100] "wait"
## [2101] "waddled"
## [2102] "squeezing"
## [2103] "braid"
## [2104] "rang"
## [2105] "belt"
## [2106] "buttocks"
## [2107] "brushing"
## [2108] "thighs"
## [2109] "defeated"
## [2110] "combat"
## [2111] "braids"
## [2112] "disgrace"
## [2113] "world"
## [2114] "shame"
## [2115] "dragonlord"
## [2116] "onyx"
## [2117] "woke"
## [2118] "tone"
## [2119] "sight"
## [2120] "digging"
## [2121] "meaning"
## [2122] "dug"
## [2123] "demanding"
## [2124] "breaking"
## [2125] "sharply"
## [2126] "army"
## [2127] "fuck"
## [2128] "crying"
## [2129] "smiles"
## [2130] "escorting"
## [2131] "unfallen"
## [2132] "nervously"
## [2133] "failing"
## [2134] "visitors"
## [2135] "poured"
## [2136] "river"
## [2137] "bannermen"
## [2138] "whipped"
## [2139] "northern"
## [2140] "crowned"
## [2141] "stag"
## [2142] "jaime"
## [2143] "beaten"
## [2144] "sandor"
## [2145] "clegane"
## [2146] "stunted"
## [2147] "imp"
## [2148] "tyrion"
## [2149] "column"
## [2150] "flanked"
## [2151] "cloaks"
## [2152] "kingsguard"
## [2153] "vaulted"
## [2154] "roar"
## [2155] "crushed"
## [2156] "crunching"
## [2157] "hug"
## [2158] "ah"
## [2159] "bottom"
## [2160] "changed"
## [2161] "win"
## [2162] "storm’s"
## [2163] "shaven"
## [2164] "muscled"
## [2165] "maiden’s"
## [2166] "fantasy"
## [2167] "antlered"
## [2168] "helmet"
## [2169] "veritable"
## [2170] "giant’s"
## [2171] "warhammer"
## [2172] "scarcely"
## [2173] "girth"
## [2174] "match"
## [2175] "height"
## [2176] "balon"
## [2177] "rebellion"
## [2178] "pretensions"
## [2179] "proclaimed"
## [2180] "islands"
## [2181] "stronghold"
## [2182] "accepted"
## [2183] "rebel"
## [2184] "lord’s"
## [2185] "surrender"
## [2186] "hostage"
## [2187] "coarse"
## [2188] "wire"
## [2189] "chin"
## [2190] "sag"
## [2191] "jowls"
## [2192] "stomach"
## [2193] "circles"
## [2194] "ned’s"
## [2195] "dismounting"
## [2196] "grooms"
## [2197] "mounts"
## [2198] "wheelhouse"
## [2199] "decked"
## [2200] "carriage"
## [2201] "oak"
## [2202] "draft"
## [2203] "pass"
## [2204] "kiss"
## [2205] "embraced"
## [2206] "introduced"
## [2207] "approved"
## [2208] "formalities"
## [2209] "greeting"
## [2210] "completed"
## [2211] "crypt"
## [2212] "respects"
## [2213] "remembering"
## [2214] "lantern"
## [2215] "begun"
## [2216] "protest"
## [2217] "tired"
## [2218] "refresh"
## [2219] "twin"
## [2220] "recognized"
## [2221] "winding"
## [2222] "steps"
## [2223] "starting"
## [2224] "complained"
## [2225] "combined"
## [2226] "trust"
## [2227] "enjoyed"
## [2228] "journey"
## [2229] "snorted"
## [2230] "bogs"
## [2231] "forests"
## [2232] "fields"
## [2233] "decent"
## [2234] "inn"
## [2235] "neck"
## [2236] "vast"
## [2237] "emptiness"
## [2238] "shy"
## [2239] "jested"
## [2240] "stairs"
## [2241] "rare"
## [2242] "steady"
## [2243] "mild"
## [2244] "winters"
## [2245] "endure"
## [2246] "flees"
## [2247] "roses"
## [2248] "stretch"
## [2249] "fruits"
## [2250] "ripe"
## [2251] "explode"
## [2252] "melons"
## [2253] "peaches"
## [2254] "fireplums"
## [2255] "you’ve"
## [2256] "tasted"
## [2257] "sweetness"
## [2258] "you’ll"
## [2259] "towns"
## [2260] "markets"
## [2261] "bursting"
## [2262] "summerwines"
## [2263] "drunk"
## [2264] "breathing"
## [2265] "slapped"
## [2266] "ample"
## [2267] "thump"
## [2268] "sparkling"
## [2269] "swear"
## [2270] "lose"
## [2271] "modesty"
## [2272] "swim"
## [2273] "naked"
## [2274] "gowns"
## [2275] "sweating"
## [2276] "sticks"
## [2277] "happily"
## [2278] "appetites"
## [2279] "pleasures"
## [2280] "charge"
## [2281] "taking"
## [2282] "toll"
## [2283] "heavily"
## [2284] "respectfully"
## [2285] "semicircle"
## [2286] "flickering"
## [2287] "underfoot"
## [2288] "procession"
## [2289] "pillars"
## [2290] "marched"
## [2291] "sepulchres"
## [2292] "contained"
## [2293] "mortal"
## [2294] "remains"
## [2295] "led"
## [2296] "wordlessly"
## [2297] "subterranean"
## [2298] "footsteps"
## [2299] "vault"
## [2300] "likenesses"
## [2301] "sealed"
## [2302] "tombs"
## [2303] "rows"
## [2304] "eternal"
## [2305] "curled"
## [2306] "round"
## [2307] "figures"
## [2308] "stir"
## [2309] "laid"
## [2310] "vengeful"
## [2311] "spirits"
## [2312] "crypts"
## [2313] "rusted"
## [2314] "leaving"
## [2315] "stains"
## [2316] "wondered"
## [2317] "ghosts"
## [2318] "roam"
## [2319] "ruled"
## [2320] "dragonlords"
## [2321] "allegiance"
## [2322] "styling"
## [2323] "unsealed"
## [2324] "rickard"
## [2325] "stern"
## [2326] "stonemason"
## [2327] "dignity"
## [2328] "tight"
## [2329] "failed"
## [2330] "strangled"
## [2331] "eldest"
## [2332] "rule"
## [2333] "lyanna"
## [2334] "child"
## [2335] "surpassing"
## [2336] "loveliness"
## [2337] "beautiful"
## [2338] "lingered"
## [2339] "lyanna’s"
## [2340] "awkward"
## [2341] "bury"
## [2342] "hoarse"
## [2343] "deserved"
## [2344] "fruit"
## [2345] "clouds"
## [2346] "fever"
## [2347] "whisper"
## [2348] "sister’s"
## [2349] "clutched"
## [2350] "petals"
## [2351] "spilling"
## [2352] "palm"
## [2353] "crannogman"
## [2354] "howland"
## [2355] "reed"
## [2356] "fond"
## [2357] "vowed"
## [2358] "bitterly"
## [2359] "ford"
## [2360] "crashed"
## [2361] "helm"
## [2362] "breastplate"
## [2363] "headed"
## [2364] "wrought"
## [2365] "rubies"
## [2366] "sunlight"
## [2367] "destriers"
## [2368] "circled"
## [2369] "clashed"
## [2370] "crushing"
## [2371] "hammer"
## [2372] "stove"
## [2373] "scene"
## [2374] "scrabbled"
## [2375] "swirling"
## [2376] "knocked"
## [2377] "dreams"
## [2378] "deaths"
## [2379] "deserves"
## [2380] "wife"
## [2381] "sourly"
## [2382] "spike"
## [2383] "sicken"
## [2384] "tourney"
## [2385] "son’s"
## [2386] "tomb"
## [2387] "bitter"
## [2388] "twist"
## [2389] "wishes"
## [2390] "foster"
## [2391] "tywin"
## [2392] "supposed"
## [2393] "entrust"
## [2394] "pit"
## [2395] "viper"
## [2396] "doubts"
## [2397] "unspoken"
## [2398] "wounds"
## [2399] "heal"
## [2400] "bleed"
## [2401] "slightest"
## [2402] "feared"
## [2403] "honored"
## [2404] "refused"
## [2405] "furious"
## [2406] "deeply"
## [2407] "namesake"
## [2408] "consent"
## [2409] "offer"
## [2410] "fostering"
## [2411] "concern"
## [2412] "nephew’s"
## [2413] "welfare"
## [2414] "declared"
## [2415] "rattling"
## [2416] "bouncing"
## [2417] "ceiling"
## [2418] "flash"
## [2419] "planned"
## [2420] "suspicions"
## [2421] "battlements"
## [2422] "benjen"
## [2423] "pressing"
## [2424] "concerns"
## [2425] "difficult"
## [2426] "served"
## [2427] "east"
## [2428] "replace"
## [2429] "succeed"
## [2430] "incomes"
## [2431] "brusquely"
## [2432] "surprise"
## [2433] "startled"
## [2434] "unbidden"
## [2435] "arryns"
## [2436] "wardens"
## [2437] "title"
## [2438] "domain"
## [2439] "restored"
## [2440] "war"
## [2441] "leader"
## [2442] "peace"
## [2443] "service"
## [2444] "owed"
## [2445] "liege"
## [2446] "ungrateful"
## [2447] "mere"
## [2448] "softened"
## [2449] "office"
## [2450] "discuss"
## [2451] "grasped"
## [2452] "elbow"
## [2453] "apprehensive"
## [2454] "damned"
## [2455] "winning"
## [2456] "laws"
## [2457] "tedious"
## [2458] "counting"
## [2459] "coppers"
## [2460] "damnable"
## [2461] "chair"
## [2462] "complain"
## [2463] "raw"
## [2464] "lies"
## [2465] "ladies"
## [2466] "surrounded"
## [2467] "flatterers"
## [2468] "fools"
## [2469] "drive"
## [2470] "madness"
## [2471] "dare"
## [2472] "nights"
## [2473] "dropped"
## [2474] "reason"
## [2475] "powerful"
## [2476] "drafted"
## [2477] "dispense"
## [2478] "absent"
## [2479] "sick"
## [2480] "indisposed"
## [2481] "offering"
## [2482] "responsibility"
## [2483] "worthy"
## [2484] "groaned"
## [2485] "humored"
## [2486] "impatience"
## [2487] "retire"
## [2488] "planning"
## [2489] "kingdom"
## [2490] "wars"
## [2491] "eat"
## [2492] "drink"
## [2493] "grave"
## [2494] "builds"
## [2495] "bedded"
## [2496] "fishmaid"
## [2497] "lowborn"
## [2498] "choicer"
## [2499] "eats"
## [2500] "takes"
## [2501] "shit"
## [2502] "roared"
## [2503] "echoes"
## [2504] "disapproving"
## [2505] "dwindled"
## [2506] "upraised"
## [2507] "humor"
## [2508] "grows"
## [2509] "freezes"
## [2510] "chokes"
## [2511] "teach"
## [2512] "joff"
## [2513] "join"
## [2514] "eleven"
## [2515] "impatient"
## [2516] "betrothal"
## [2517] "marriage"
## [2518] "curse"
## [2519] "answered"
## [2520] "hesitated"
## [2521] "honors"
## [2522] "unexpected"
## [2523] "clasped"
## [2524] "foreboding"
## [2525] "breathed"
## [2526] "cup"
## [2527] "flagon"
## [2528] "settled"
## [2529] "bench"
## [2530] "squires"
## [2531] "fruity"
## [2532] "summerwine"
## [2533] "hazy"
## [2534] "roasted"
## [2535] "meat"
## [2536] "fresh"
## [2537] "baked"
## [2538] "bread"
## [2539] "draped"
## [2540] "crimson"
## [2541] "baratheon’s"
## [2542] "lion"
## [2543] "singer"
## [2544] "harp"
## [2545] "reciting"
## [2546] "ballad"
## [2547] "clangor"
## [2548] "pewter"
## [2549] "plates"
## [2550] "mutter"
## [2551] "drunken"
## [2552] "conversations"
## [2553] "hour"
## [2554] "welcoming"
## [2555] "platform"
## [2556] "hosted"
## [2557] "occasion"
## [2558] "doubtless"
## [2559] "permit"
## [2560] "benches"
## [2561] "stop"
## [2562] "drinking"
## [2563] "thirst"
## [2564] "finding"
## [2565] "raucous"
## [2566] "youths"
## [2567] "drained"
## [2568] "relished"
## [2569] "bedding"
## [2570] "companions"
## [2571] "entertaining"
## [2572] "offspring"
## [2573] "sated"
## [2574] "jeweled"
## [2575] "gleamed"
## [2576] "emeralds"
## [2577] "perfect"
## [2578] "dais"
## [2579] "disappointment"
## [2580] "peerless"
## [2581] "fiercest"
## [2582] "faced"
## [2583] "managing"
## [2584] "muster"
## [2585] "urge"
## [2586] "visit"
## [2587] "colors"
## [2588] "myrcella"
## [2589] "wisp"
## [2590] "cascade"
## [2591] "curls"
## [2592] "net"
## [2593] "timid"
## [2594] "decided"
## [2595] "insipid"
## [2596] "realize"
## [2597] "stupid"
## [2598] "grinning"
## [2599] "paired"
## [2600] "plump"
## [2601] "joffrey"
## [2602] "twelve"
## [2603] "dripped"
## [2604] "choker"
## [2605] "velvet"
## [2606] "radiant"
## [2607] "joffrey’s"
## [2608] "pouty"
## [2609] "winterfell’s"
## [2610] "pair"
## [2611] "mistaking"
## [2612] "flashing"
## [2613] "satin"
## [2614] "thread"
## [2615] "defiance"
## [2616] "waddling"
## [2617] "tywin’s"
## [2618] "brood"
## [2619] "ugliest"
## [2620] "denied"
## [2621] "dwarf"
## [2622] "brute’s"
## [2623] "squashed"
## [2624] "swollen"
## [2625] "shelf"
## [2626] "peered"
## [2627] "lank"
## [2628] "fascination"
## [2629] "enter"
## [2630] "utterly"
## [2631] "feasting"
## [2632] "rubbed"
## [2633] "leg"
## [2634] "honeyed"
## [2635] "chicken"
## [2636] "tear"
## [2637] "idea"
## [2638] "knifed"
## [2639] "carcass"
## [2640] "slide"
## [2641] "savage"
## [2642] "permitted"
## [2643] "wolves"
## [2644] "banquet"
## [2645] "curs"
## [2646] "stung"
## [2647] "savagely"
## [2648] "cursing"
## [2649] "swallowed"
## [2650] "gulp"
## [2651] "devour"
## [2652] "serving"
## [2653] "mongrel"
## [2654] "edged"
## [2655] "confrontation"
## [2656] "angry"
## [2657] "prize"
## [2658] "baring"
## [2659] "fangs"
## [2660] "tensed"
## [2661] "barked"
## [2662] "slunk"
## [2663] "snap"
## [2664] "save"
## [2665] "ruffle"
## [2666] "nipped"
## [2667] "ruffled"
## [2668] "wolf’s"
## [2669] "interrupted"
## [2670] "bawdy"
## [2671] "story"
## [2672] "straddled"
## [2673] "sincerely"
## [2674] "snagged"
## [2675] "onion"
## [2676] "dripping"
## [2677] "gravy"
## [2678] "nearby"
## [2679] "trencher"
## [2680] "featured"
## [2681] "mountain"
## [2682] "crag"
## [2683] "befitted"
## [2684] "buckle"
## [2685] "chain"
## [2686] "looped"
## [2687] "ate"
## [2688] "makes"
## [2689] "insult"
## [2690] "festive"
## [2691] "observing"
## [2692] "courtesies"
## [2693] "hooded"
## [2694] "seats"
## [2695] "toast"
## [2696] "loudly"
## [2697] "jest"
## [2698] "attacked"
## [2699] "dish"
## [2700] "starving"
## [2701] "sculpture"
## [2702] "afternoon"
## [2703] "careful"
## [2704] "measuring"
## [2705] "miss"
## [2706] "swelled"
## [2707] "stronger"
## [2708] "lance"
## [2709] "notable"
## [2710] "achievements"
## [2711] "protested"
## [2712] "bastards"
## [2713] "downward"
## [2714] "pitcher"
## [2715] "swallow"
## [2716] "daeren"
## [2717] "conquered"
## [2718] "conquest"
## [2719] "lasted"
## [2720] "isn’t"
## [2721] "sip"
## [2722] "wiping"
## [2723] "bold"
## [2724] "serve"
## [2725] "abed"
## [2726] "slept"
## [2727] "inherit"
## [2728] "marry"
## [2729] "mistress"
## [2730] "castles"
## [2731] "earn"
## [2732] "you’re"
## [2733] "brotherhood"
## [2734] "families"
## [2735] "ready"
## [2736] "oath"
## [2737] "hotly"
## [2738] "cost"
## [2739] "eager"
## [2740] "more’s"
## [2741] "pity"
## [2742] "fathered"
## [2743] "spat"
## [2744] "venom"
## [2745] "begin"
## [2746] "excused"
## [2747] "whirled"
## [2748] "bolted"
## [2749] "tangled"
## [2750] "sideways"
## [2751] "spiced"
## [2752] "crashing"
## [2753] "boomed"
## [2754] "cheeks"
## [2755] "wrenched"
## [2756] "heels"
## [2757] "yard"
## [2758] "lone"
## [2759] "sentry"
## [2760] "miserable"
## [2761] "huddled"
## [2762] "traded"
## [2763] "instant"
## [2764] "deserted"
## [2765] "drear"
## [2766] "music"
## [2767] "spilled"
## [2768] "windows"
## [2769] "wiped"
## [2770] "sleeve"
## [2771] "shirt"
## [2772] "ledge"
## [2773] "gargoyle"
## [2774] "aren’t"
## [2775] "noisy"
## [2776] "considered"
## [2777] "rude"
## [2778] "vomit"
## [2779] "ladder"
## [2780] "gasped"
## [2781] "awe"
## [2782] "spun"
## [2783] "landed"
## [2784] "backward"
## [2785] "dusted"
## [2786] "scared"
## [2787] "padded"
## [2788] "pet"
## [2789] "bared"
## [2790] "snarl"
## [2791] "training"
## [2792] "ghost’s"
## [2793] "cocked"
## [2794] "oversized"
## [2795] "mismatched"
## [2796] "stark’s"
## [2797] "coldness"
## [2798] "offend"
## [2799] "dwarfs"
## [2800] "tactful"
## [2801] "generations"
## [2802] "capering"
## [2803] "motley"
## [2804] "won"
## [2805] "stiffly"
## [2806] "corrected"
## [2807] "dwarf’s"
## [2808] "comment"
## [2809] "counsel"
## [2810] "weakness"
## [2811] "anyone’s"
## [2812] "sardonic"
## [2813] "favored"
## [2814] "grin"
## [2815] "sauntered"
## [2816] "whistling"
## [2817] "tune"
## [2818] "catelyn’s"
## [2819] "bedchambers"
## [2820] "hottest"
## [2821] "natural"
## [2822] "springs"
## [2823] "chambers"
## [2824] "filling"
## [2825] "gardens"
## [2826] "warmth"
## [2827] "keeping"
## [2828] "freezing"
## [2829] "pools"
## [2830] "smoked"
## [2831] "courtyards"
## [2832] "difference"
## [2833] "edmure"
## [2834] "abide"
## [2835] "finished"
## [2836] "crossed"
## [2837] "tapestries"
## [2838] "letting"
## [2839] "chamber"
## [2840] "swirled"
## [2841] "facing"
## [2842] "vulnerable"
## [2843] "loins"
## [2844] "ached"
## [2845] "urgency"
## [2846] "lovemaking"
## [2847] "ache"
## [2848] "seed"
## [2849] "prayed"
## [2850] "quicken"
## [2851] "refuse"
## [2852] "duties"
## [2853] "suspect"
## [2854] "oppose"
## [2855] "danger"
## [2856] "refusing"
## [2857] "harm"
## [2858] "loves"
## [2859] "bluster"
## [2860] "lodged"
## [2861] "throw"
## [2862] "blazed"
## [2863] "offers"
## [2864] "queens"
## [2865] "sentries"
## [2866] "brandon’s"
## [2867] "borne"
## [2868] "desmond’s"
## [2869] "begs"
## [2870] "urgent"
## [2871] "audience"
## [2872] "disturbed"
## [2873] "insists"
## [2874] "robe"
## [2875] "absently"
## [2876] "shown"
## [2877] "floppy"
## [2878] "sleeves"
## [2879] "pockets"
## [2880] "tucking"
## [2881] "producing"
## [2882] "books"
## [2883] "messages"
## [2884] "artifacts"
## [2885] "toys"
## [2886] "waited"
## [2887] "pardon"
## [2888] "disturbing"
## [2889] "irritated"
## [2890] "box"
## [2891] "observatory"
## [2892] "napped"
## [2893] "lens"
## [2894] "lenscrafters"
## [2895] "equal"
## [2896] "patience"
## [2897] "instrument"
## [2898] "fingered"
## [2899] "worn"
## [2900] "link"
## [2901] "paper"
## [2902] "concealed"
## [2903] "false"
## [2904] "dismantled"
## [2905] "pardons"
## [2906] "marked"
## [2907] "trusting"
## [2908] "blob"
## [2909] "wax"
## [2910] "retreat"
## [2911] "shaking"
## [2912] "nakedness"
## [2913] "darkening"
## [2914] "private"
## [2915] "withdraw"
## [2916] "averted"
## [2917] "shocked"
## [2918] "lighting"
## [2919] "dressing"
## [2920] "delivered"
## [2921] "kindling"
## [2922] "heavier"
## [2923] "logs"
## [2924] "inches"
## [2925] "stiffened"
## [2926] "wits"
## [2927] "searched"
## [2928] "marks"
## [2929] "impulsive"
## [2930] "cleverly"
## [2931] "risk"
## [2932] "suspicion"
## [2933] "conclusion"
## [2934] "truths"
## [2935] "nest"
## [2936] "adders"
## [2937] "avoid"
## [2938] "plucked"
## [2939] "chafed"
## [2940] "power"
## [2941] "arryn’s"
## [2942] "killers"
## [2943] "helplessly"
## [2944] "bedchamber"
## [2945] "children’s"
## [2946] "farewell"
## [2947] "moisture"
## [2948] "faintly"
## [2949] "corners"
## [2950] "summons"
## [2951] "dully"
## [2952] "punishment"
## [2953] "brook"
## [2954] "argument"
## [2955] "govern"
## [2956] "stead"
## [2957] "errands"
## [2958] "councils"
## [2959] "murmured"
## [2960] "gravely"
## [2961] "dreaded"
## [2962] "grounds"
## [2963] "devotion"
## [2964] "shine"
## [2965] "refinement"
## [2966] "rodrik"
## [2967] "tells"
## [2968] "bad"
## [2969] "healthy"
## [2970] "safer"
## [2971] "loving"
## [2972] "kissed"
## [2973] "mention"
## [2974] "knowledge"
## [2975] "chance"
## [2976] "campaign"
## [2977] "infant"
## [2978] "solace"
## [2979] "battles"
## [2980] "quickened"
## [2981] "expected"
## [2982] "child’s"
## [2983] "residence"
## [2984] "secrets"
## [2985] "maids"
## [2986] "repeating"
## [2987] "soldiers"
## [2988] "arthur"
## [2989] "dayne"
## [2990] "deadliest"
## [2991] "aerys’s"
## [2992] "slain"
## [2993] "carried"
## [2994] "arthur’s"
## [2995] "awaited"
## [2996] "starfall"
## [2997] "shores"
## [2998] "ashara"
## [2999] "haunting"
## [3000] "marshal"
## [3001] "whispering"
## [3002] "dayne’s"
## [3003] "persuade"
## [3004] "forgive"
## [3005] "overlooked"
## [3006] "cutting"
## [3007] "kindness"
## [3008] "bastard’s"
## [3009] "shunned"
## [3010] "mute"
## [3011] "appeal"
## [3012] "damnably"
## [3013] "solution"
## [3014] "aspires"
## [3015] "gladly"
## [3016] "contest"
## [3017] "grandchildren"
## [3018] "sacrifice"
## [3019] "road"
## [3020] "crueler"
## [3021] "lady’s"
## [3022] "gaze"
## [3023] "thoughtful"
## [3024] "preparations"
## [3025] "depart"
## [3026] "enjoy"
## [3027] "arya’s"
## [3028] "stitches"
## [3029] "sansa’s"
## [3030] "needlework"
## [3031] "exquisite"
## [3032] "septa"
## [3033] "mordane"
## [3034] "sniffed"
## [3035] "blacksmith"
## [3036] "furtively"
## [3037] "worried"
## [3038] "paying"
## [3039] "attention"
## [3040] "admiration"
## [3041] "privileged"
## [3042] "instruct"
## [3043] "womanly"
## [3044] "arts"
## [3045] "myrcella’s"
## [3046] "cooing"
## [3047] "salvage"
## [3048] "needle"
## [3049] "glumly"
## [3050] "chatting"
## [3051] "beth"
## [3052] "jeyne"
## [3053] "poole"
## [3054] "leaning"
## [3055] "talking"
## [3056] "giggled"
## [3057] "abashed"
## [3058] "blushed"
## [3059] "jofftey"
## [3060] "naturally"
## [3061] "steward"
## [3062] "dearest"
## [3063] "dreamily"
## [3064] "hugging"
## [3065] "blush"
## [3066] "prettily"
## [3067] "dull"
## [3068] "resentment"
## [3069] "shouldn’t"
## [3070] "stroking"
## [3071] "harshness"
## [3072] "gallant"
## [3073] "stitched"
## [3074] "jealous"
## [3075] "tower"
## [3076] "bony"
## [3077] "lipless"
## [3078] "precise"
## [3079] "remarking"
## [3080] "compliment"
## [3081] "starched"
## [3082] "skirts"
## [3083] "attract"
## [3084] "septa’s"
## [3085] "surrendering"
## [3086] "examined"
## [3087] "bred"
## [3088] "smirking"
## [3089] "behalf"
## [3090] "biting"
## [3091] "lip"
## [3092] "managed"
## [3093] "stiff"
## [3094] "bow"
## [3095] "blinked"
## [3096] "guidance"
## [3097] "uncertain"
## [3098] "shoe"
## [3099] "sweetly"
## [3100] "satisfaction"
## [3101] "shock"
## [3102] "exit"
## [3103] "wrote"
## [3104] "poetry"
## [3105] "cheekbones"
## [3106] "auburn"
## [3107] "lusterless"
## [3108] "solemn"
## [3109] "horseface"
## [3110] "neigh"
## [3111] "manage"
## [3112] "nymeria"
## [3113] "guardroom"
## [3114] "base"
## [3115] "bounded"
## [3116] "forbidden"
## [3117] "untied"
## [3118] "coins"
## [3119] "rhoyne"
## [3120] "scandal"
## [3121] "wolfling"
## [3122] "notion"
## [3123] "practice"
## [3124] "armory"
## [3125] "view"
## [3126] "arrived"
## [3127] "sill"
## [3128] "languidly"
## [3129] "action"
## [3130] "absorbed"
## [3131] "unaware"
## [3132] "stalked"
## [3133] "mates"
## [3134] "nip"
## [3135] "chorus"
## [3136] "thuds"
## [3137] "grunts"
## [3138] "drilling"
## [3139] "belted"
## [3140] "featherbed"
## [3141] "positively"
## [3142] "huffing"
## [3143] "puffing"
## [3144] "hitting"
## [3145] "stout"
## [3146] "keg"
## [3147] "whiskers"
## [3148] "spectators"
## [3149] "calling"
## [3150] "encouragement"
## [3151] "loudest"
## [3152] "spotted"
## [3153] "doublet"
## [3154] "kraken"
## [3155] "contempt"
## [3156] "combatants"
## [3157] "staggering"
## [3158] "judged"
## [3159] "awhile"
## [3160] "shade"
## [3161] "exhausting"
## [3162] "fun"
## [3163] "messed"
## [3164] "reassured"
## [3165] "damage"
## [3166] "bruises"
## [3167] "whack"
## [3168] "wisdom"
## [3169] "muscle"
## [3170] "hadn’t"
## [3171] "glance"
## [3172] "recognize"
## [3173] "livery"
## [3174] "strangers"
## [3175] "surmised"
## [3176] "surcoat"
## [3177] "shield"
## [3178] "prince’s"
## [3179] "divided"
## [3180] "middle"
## [3181] "you’d"
## [3182] "sufficient"
## [3183] "chuckled"
## [3184] "fish"
## [3185] "silly"
## [3186] "rules"
## [3187] "shout"
## [3188] "rolling"
## [3189] "dust"
## [3190] "padding"
## [3191] "turtle"
## [3192] "regained"
## [3193] "yanked"
## [3194] "fought"
## [3195] "lew"
## [3196] "donnis"
## [3197] "sweaty"
## [3198] "bout"
## [3199] "response"
## [3200] "derisively"
## [3201] "swatting"
## [3202] "play"
## [3203] "swats"
## [3204] "terrified"
## [3205] "suggesting"
## [3206] "blunted"
## [3207] "bull"
## [3208] "pointedly"
## [3209] "blunt"
## [3210] "bristle"
## [3211] "seized"
## [3212] "feigned"
## [3213] "yawn"
## [3214] "frolics"
## [3215] "beet"
## [3216] "locked"
## [3217] "safely"
## [3218] "bent"
## [3219] "scratch"
## [3220] "lurking"
## [3221] "sterner"
## [3222] "penance"
## [3223] "sewing"
## [3224] "spring"
## [3225] "thaw"
## [3226] "funny"
## [3227] "hate"
## [3228] "passion"
## [3229] "direction"
## [3230] "boar"
## [3231] "hunters"
## [3232] "morrow"
## [3233] "dungeons"
## [3234] "wives"
## [3235] "serwyn"
## [3236] "mirror"
## [3237] "ryam"
## [3238] "dragonknight"
## [3239] "erryk"
## [3240] "arryk"
## [3241] "another’s"
## [3242] "hundreds"
## [3243] "gerold"
## [3244] "hightower"
## [3245] "barristan"
## [3246] "boros"
## [3247] "bald"
## [3248] "jowly"
## [3249] "meryn"
## [3250] "droopy"
## [3251] "rust"
## [3252] "anymore"
## [3253] "selmy"
## [3254] "marking"
## [3255] "dreamed"
## [3256] "imagine"
## [3257] "farewells"
## [3258] "intending"
## [3259] "gage"
## [3260] "cook"
## [3261] "mikken"
## [3262] "smithy"
## [3263] "hodor"
## [3264] "stableboy"
## [3265] "blackberry"
## [3266] "stable"
## [3267] "stall"
## [3268] "stableboys"
## [3269] "fetch"
## [3270] "stick"
## [3271] "smarter"
## [3272] "hounds"
## [3273] "chasing"
## [3274] "decide"
## [3275] "witch"
## [3276] "shaggydog"
## [3277] "weeks"
## [3278] "happened"
## [3279] "raced"
## [3280] "sprinting"
## [3281] "scratched"
## [3282] "howl"
## [3283] "slitted"
## [3284] "yelled"
## [3285] "chased"
## [3286] "roof"
## [3287] "rooftops"
## [3288] "labyrinth"
## [3289] "tunnels"
## [3290] "spreading"
## [3291] "directions"
## [3292] "slanted"
## [3293] "monstrous"
## [3294] "sunk"
## [3295] "scrambled"
## [3296] "wheeling"
## [3297] "shapeless"
## [3298] "gargoyles"
## [3299] "cooks"
## [3300] "tending"
## [3301] "vegetables"
## [3302] "restless"
## [3303] "kennels"
## [3304] "gossiping"
## [3305] "washing"
## [3306] "taught"
## [3307] "builders"
## [3308] "leveled"
## [3309] "valleys"
## [3310] "bell"
## [3311] "rookery"
## [3312] "floors"
## [3313] "tunnel"
## [3314] "level"
## [3315] "looming"
## [3316] "convinced"
## [3317] "slip"
## [3318] "believed"
## [3319] "bedroom"
## [3320] "asleep"
## [3321] "confessed"
## [3322] "guilt"
## [3323] "cleanse"
## [3324] "posted"
## [3325] "reflect"
## [3326] "disobedience"
## [3327] "upper"
## [3328] "fetched"
## [3329] "squirrel"
## [3330] "fooled"
## [3331] "forbid"
## [3332] "crows"
## [3333] "peck"
## [3334] "corn"
## [3335] "pecking"
## [3336] "pottery"
## [3337] "flung"
## [3338] "demonstrate"
## [3339] "happen"
## [3340] "clay"
## [3341] "chase"
## [3342] "roofs"
## [3343] "haul"
## [3344] "pulling"
## [3345] "crevices"
## [3346] "peach"
## [3347] "sparrows"
## [3348] "nested"
## [3349] "cracks"
## [3350] "dusty"
## [3351] "loft"
## [3352] "sprawl"
## [3353] "watchtower"
## [3354] "strike"
## [3355] "structure"
## [3356] "collapsed"
## [3357] "rebuilt"
## [3358] "ratters"
## [3359] "jumble"
## [3360] "charred"
## [3361] "rotten"
## [3362] "beams"
## [3363] "jagged"
## [3364] "mortar"
## [3365] "ash"
## [3366] "shinny"
## [3367] "cross"
## [3368] "leaping"
## [3369] "squat"
## [3370] "fortress"
## [3371] "rats"
## [3372] "spiders"
## [3373] "leaned"
## [3374] "space"
## [3375] "stretched"
## [3376] "pull"
## [3377] "scramble"
## [3378] "blackened"
## [3379] "ease"
## [3380] "row"
## [3381] "drifting"
## [3382] "lazily"
## [3383] "involved"
## [3384] "blame"
## [3385] "stannis"
## [3386] "indigestion"
## [3387] "renly"
## [3388] "littlefinger"
## [3389] "ambitious"
## [3390] "reasons"
## [3391] "yearns"
## [3392] "greet"
## [3393] "accusations"
## [3394] "lower"
## [3395] "fret"
## [3396] "cow"
## [3397] "weakling"
## [3398] "bolder"
## [3399] "mothers"
## [3400] "minds"
## [3401] "require"
## [3402] "fault"
## [3403] "drop"
## [3404] "catch"
## [3405] "betray"
## [3406] "betrayed"
## [3407] "obvious"
## [3408] "dies"
## [3409] "till"
## [3410] "decides"
## [3411] "slap"
## [3412] "tiresome"
## [3413] "astride"
## [3414] "upside"
## [3415] "swam"
## [3416] "dizzily"
## [3417] "melted"
## [3418] "wrestling"
## [3419] "screened"
## [3420] "kissing"
## [3421] "hurting"
## [3422] "moan"
## [3423] "push"
## [3424] "moaning"
## [3425] "screamed"
## [3426] "wildly"
## [3427] "shouting"
## [3428] "bending"
## [3429] "scraped"
## [3430] "uselessly"
## [3431] "panic"
## [3432] "vertigo"
## [3433] "sickening"
## [3434] "lurch"
## [3435] "building"
## [3436] "impact"
## [3437] "dangled"
## [3438] "reflections"
## [3439] "shrilly"
## [3440] "fingernails"
## [3441] "unyielding"
## [3442] "relief"
## [3443] "gouges"
## [3444] "forearm"
## [3445] "sheepishly"
## [3446] "loathing"
## [3447] "shove"
## [3448] "grab"
## [3449] "maze"
## [3450] "flag"
## [3451] "mourning"
## [3452] "library"
## [3453] "snug"
## [3454] "pack"
## [3455] "shut"
## [3456] "leatherbound"
## [3457] "reading"
## [3458] "discourse"
## [3459] "changing"
## [3460] "seasons"
## [3461] "lamp"
## [3462] "leaked"
## [3463] "sore"
## [3464] "eased"
## [3465] "massaged"
## [3466] "limped"
## [3467] "snoring"
## [3468] "pillowed"
## [3469] "grand"
## [3470] "aethelmure"
## [3471] "chayle"
## [3472] "jerked"
## [3473] "blinking"
## [3474] "confused"
## [3475] "break"
## [3476] "shelves"
## [3477] "scrolls"
## [3478] "parchment"
## [3479] "ayrmidon’s"
## [3480] "engines"
## [3481] "complete"
## [3482] "copy"
## [3483] "gaped"
## [3484] "patiently"
## [3485] "instructions"
## [3486] "tasks"
## [3487] "lungful"
## [3488] "laborious"
## [3489] "descent"
## [3490] "steep"
## [3491] "corkscrewed"
## [3492] "exterior"
## [3493] "rising"
## [3494] "cleared"
## [3495] "clegane’s"
## [3496] "rasping"
## [3497] "quicker"
## [3498] "swarmed"
## [3499] "packed"
## [3500] "squire"
## [3501] "lowered"
## [3502] "creature"
## [3503] "visor"
## [3504] "tested"
## [3505] "slicing"
## [3506] "infested"
## [3507] "hopped"
## [3508] "nephew"
## [3509] "unlike"
## [3510] "bodyguard"
## [3511] "mummer’s"
## [3512] "farce"
## [3513] "pretended"
## [3514] "insolence"
## [3515] "petulant"
## [3516] "absence"
## [3517] "wailing"
## [3518] "redden"
## [3519] "hit"
## [3520] "flamed"
## [3521] "nod"
## [3522] "headlong"
## [3523] "cliff"
## [3524] "soot"
## [3525] "blot"
## [3526] "fashioned"
## [3527] "fearsome"
## [3528] "behold"
## [3529] "improvement"
## [3530] "hideously"
## [3531] "hollow"
## [3532] "rumble"
## [3533] "perfunctory"
## [3534] "briskly"
## [3535] "pitied"
## [3536] "temper"
## [3537] "cheerless"
## [3538] "guest"
## [3539] "uninvited"
## [3540] "expression"
## [3541] "distaste"
## [3542] "sorrow"
## [3543] "forgave"
## [3544] "measure"
## [3545] "respect"
## [3546] "servant"
## [3547] "approached"
## [3548] "mug"
## [3549] "beer"
## [3550] "bacon"
## [3551] "siblings"
## [3552] "chosen"
## [3553] "matched"
## [3554] "fashionable"
## [3555] "tumble"
## [3556] "ornaments"
## [3557] "throats"
## [3558] "dreadful"
## [3559] "contemplate"
## [3560] "sickroom"
## [3561] "announced"
## [3562] "hopeful"
## [3563] "timorously"
## [3564] "peas"
## [3565] "pod"
## [3566] "mused"
## [3567] "hostages"
## [3568] "plate"
## [3569] "chunk"
## [3570] "studying"
## [3571] "happy"
## [3572] "maester’s"
## [3573] "chewed"
## [3574] "nature"
## [3575] "starve"
## [3576] "wakes"
## [3577] "hopes"
## [3578] "returns"
## [3579] "weaken"
## [3580] "shuddered"
## [3581] "unnatural"
## [3582] "animals"
## [3583] "returning"
## [3584] "celibate"
## [3585] "whores"
## [3586] "begging"
## [3587] "piss"
## [3588] "abruptly"
## [3589] "filth"
## [3590] "strode"
## [3591] "lingering"
## [3592] "commands"
## [3593] "torment"
## [3594] "advise"
## [3595] "suggestion"
## [3596] "kindly"
## [3597] "cripple"
## [3598] "grotesque"
## [3599] "accentuated"
## [3600] "speaking"
## [3601] "grotesques"
## [3602] "terribly"
## [3603] "possibilities"
## [3604] "perverse"
## [3605] "curdled"
## [3606] "sour"
## [3607] "tyrion’s"
## [3608] "wolfishly"
## [3609] "wound"
## [3610] "chaos"
## [3611] "liking"
## [3612] "straightened"
## [3613] "meals"
## [3614] "pots"
## [3615] "fed"
## [3616] "herb"
## [3617] "mixture"
## [3618] "sustained"
## [3619] "emotionless"
## [3620] "bye"
## [3621] "aged"
## [3622] "flee"
## [3623] "dangers"
## [3624] "claw"
## [3625] "blanket"
## [3626] "sunken"
## [3627] "pits"
## [3628] "shrunken"
## [3629] "leaf"
## [3630] "frail"
## [3631] "cage"
## [3632] "ribs"
## [3633] "shallow"
## [3634] "cared"
## [3635] "we’re"
## [3636] "acceptance"
## [3637] "prospect"
## [3638] "special"
## [3639] "poison"
## [3640] "absolution"
## [3641] "weep"
## [3642] "sobs"
## [3643] "confusion"
## [3644] "wagons"
## [3645] "loaded"
## [3646] "harnessed"
## [3647] "saddled"
## [3648] "uproar"
## [3649] "collapse"
## [3650] "melting"
## [3651] "relieved"
## [3652] "awkwardly"
## [3653] "haven’t"
## [3654] "package"
## [3655] "packing"
## [3656] "helping"
## [3657] "snatch"
## [3658] "jaws"
## [3659] "haunches"
## [3660] "yelped"
## [3661] "catching"
## [3662] "amused"
## [3663] "disentangled"
## [3664] "gestured"
## [3665] "scattered"
## [3666] "weren’t"
## [3667] "properly"
## [3668] "proper"
## [3669] "doesn’t"
## [3670] "rags"
## [3671] "cares"
## [3672] "warn"
## [3673] "intruders"
## [3674] "sheen"
## [3675] "toy"
## [3676] "shave"
## [3677] "hack"
## [3678] "poke"
## [3679] "balance"
## [3680] "lesson"
## [3681] "pointy"
## [3682] "whap"
## [3683] "idiot"
## [3684] "doubtful"
## [3685] "partner"
## [3686] "roads"
## [3687] "spend"
## [3688] "emptying"
## [3689] "shyly"
## [3690] "showered"
## [3691] "kisses"
## [3692] "forgot"
## [3693] "guess"
## [3694] "teased"
## [3695] "puzzled"
## [3696] "warmed"
## [3697] "barbaric"
## [3698] "splendor"
## [3699] "importance"
## [3700] "warriors"
## [3701] "uncounted"
## [3702] "camped"
## [3703] "herds"
## [3704] "raising"
## [3705] "palaces"
## [3706] "woven"
## [3707] "grass"
## [3708] "folk"
## [3709] "anxious"
## [3710] "doubled"
## [3711] "platters"
## [3712] "duck"
## [3713] "orange"
## [3714] "peppers"
## [3715] "wedding"
## [3716] "wedded"
## [3717] "wealth"
## [3718] "exile"
## [3719] "kbal"
## [3720] "constant"
## [3721] "companion"
## [3722] "tomorrow"
## [3723] "pays"
## [3724] "languid"
## [3725] "glittering"
## [3726] "chooses"
## [3727] "dosh"
## [3728] "khaleen"
## [3729] "omens"
## [3730] "favor"
## [3731] "seethed"
## [3732] "sits"
## [3733] "months"
## [3734] "traveled"
## [3735] "agreement"
## [3736] "presume"
## [3737] "berate"
## [3738] "bristled"
## [3739] "enigmatically"
## [3740] "wing"
## [3741] "grease"
## [3742] "nibbled"
## [3743] "tender"
## [3744] "aloud"
## [3745] "dreamt"
## [3746] "clumsy"
## [3747] "ungainly"
## [3748] "stumbled"
## [3749] "whimpered"
## [3750] "hideous"
## [3751] "ripping"
## [3752] "crackling"
## [3753] "columns"
## [3754] "midst"
## [3755] "ceremony"
## [3756] "dusk"
## [3757] "earthen"
## [3758] "ramp"
## [3759] "amid"
## [3760] "seething"
## [3761] "frightening"
## [3762] "fabrics"
## [3763] "visited"
## [3764] "vests"
## [3765] "chests"
## [3766] "horsehair"
## [3767] "leggings"
## [3768] "cinched"
## [3769] "medallion"
## [3770] "belts"
## [3771] "greased"
## [3772] "rendering"
## [3773] "gorged"
## [3774] "horseflesh"
## [3775] "fermented"
## [3776] "mare’s"
## [3777] "wines"
## [3778] "jests"
## [3779] "harsh"
## [3780] "alien"
## [3781] "scarlet"
## [3782] "khal’s"
## [3783] "fumed"
## [3784] "portions"
## [3785] "blacker"
## [3786] "person"
## [3787] "horde"
## [3788] "react"
## [3789] "joints"
## [3790] "sausages"
## [3791] "pies"
## [3792] "sweetgrass"
## [3793] "stews"
## [3794] "pastries"
## [3795] "kitchens"
## [3796] "roil"
## [3797] "replies"
## [3798] "incomprehensible"
## [3799] "welcomed"
## [3800] "conversation"
## [3801] "nursing"
## [3802] "quarter"
## [3803] "drums"
## [3804] "beating"
## [3805] "movements"
## [3806] "toss"
## [3807] "dancer"
## [3808] "stallion"
## [3809] "mare"
## [3810] "privacy"
## [3811] "coupling"
## [3812] "happening"
## [3813] "avert"
## [3814] "blink"
## [3815] "arakhs"
## [3816] "scythe"
## [3817] "whirling"
## [3818] "insults"
## [3819] "missed"
## [3820] "arc"
## [3821] "dothraki’s"
## [3822] "backbone"
## [3823] "button"
## [3824] "entrails"
## [3825] "loser"
## [3826] "winner"
## [3827] "nearest"
## [3828] "quarreling"
## [3829] "dancing"
## [3830] "resumed"
## [3831] "affair"
## [3832] "blessed"
## [3833] "skins"
## [3834] "hulking"
## [3835] "mask"
## [3836] "halt"
## [3837] "consummation"
## [3838] "gifted"
## [3839] "handmaids"
## [3840] "irri"
## [3841] "jhiqui"
## [3842] "skinned"
## [3843] "shaped"
## [3844] "doreah"
## [3845] "lysene"
## [3846] "selected"
## [3847] "personally"
## [3848] "apologized"
## [3849] "afford"
## [3850] "stack"
## [3851] "histories"
## [3852] "written"
## [3853] "thanked"
## [3854] "burly"
## [3855] "hurried"
## [3856] "bearing"
## [3857] "cedar"
## [3858] "piles"
## [3859] "velvets"
## [3860] "damasks"
## [3861] "produce"
## [3862] "resting"
## [3863] "nestled"
## [3864] "eggs"
## [3865] "patterned"
## [3866] "delicately"
## [3867] "expecting"
## [3868] "porcelain"
## [3869] "enamel"
## [3870] "blown"
## [3871] "surface"
## [3872] "shell"
## [3873] "scales"
## [3874] "egg"
## [3875] "shimmered"
## [3876] "burnished"
## [3877] "flecks"
## [3878] "depending"
## [3879] "cream"
## [3880] "streaked"
## [3881] "ripples"
## [3882] "swirls"
## [3883] "dragon’s"
## [3884] "asshai"
## [3885] "eons"
## [3886] "treasure"
## [3887] "lavish"
## [3888] "collected"
## [3889] "fortune"
## [3890] "selling"
## [3891] "traditional"
## [3892] "haggo"
## [3893] "whip"
## [3894] "handle"
## [3895] "cohollo"
## [3896] "arakh"
## [3897] "qotho"
## [3898] "curved"
## [3899] "refusals"
## [3900] "offerings"
## [3901] "received"
## [3902] "plenty"
## [3903] "slippers"
## [3904] "sandsilks"
## [3905] "jars"
## [3906] "feathers"
## [3907] "bottles"
## [3908] "mice"
## [3909] "khaleesi"
## [3910] "possibly"
## [3911] "expectant"
## [3912] "hush"
## [3913] "rippled"
## [3914] "givers"
## [3915] "filly"
## [3916] "spirited"
## [3917] "mane"
## [3918] "horse’s"
## [3919] "translated"
## [3920] "decrees"
## [3921] "reins"
## [3922] "gathered"
## [3923] "stirrups"
## [3924] "traveling"
## [3925] "ship"
## [3926] "wagon"
## [3927] "horseback"
## [3928] "praying"
## [3929] "lightest"
## [3930] "silken"
## [3931] "gait"
## [3932] "crowd"
## [3933] "intended"
## [3934] "exciting"
## [3935] "terrifying"
## [3936] "path"
## [3937] "pressure"
## [3938] "responded"
## [3939] "gallop"
## [3940] "directly"
## [3941] "hemmed"
## [3942] "leapt"
## [3943] "flames"
## [3944] "wings"
## [3945] "pentoshi"
## [3946] "sliver"
## [3947] "west"
## [3948] "saddling"
## [3949] "woken"
## [3950] "drove"
## [3951] "gathering"
## [3952] "grassy"
## [3953] "fragile"
## [3954] "limbs"
## [3955] "secured"
## [3956] "callused"
## [3957] "thumb"
## [3958] "sliding"
## [3959] "strands"
## [3960] "murmuring"
## [3961] "tenderness"
## [3962] "rounded"
## [3963] "dirt"
## [3964] "remove"
## [3965] "undo"
## [3966] "undress"
## [3967] "deft"
## [3968] "removed"
## [3969] "unmoving"
## [3970] "firmly"
## [3971] "chilly"
## [3972] "tracing"
## [3973] "curve"
## [3974] "knuckle"
## [3975] "spine"
## [3976] "tingled"
## [3977] "nipples"
## [3978] "thumbs"
## [3979] "pinched"
## [3980] "forefinger"
## [3981] "insistently"
## [3982] "fluttering"
## [3983] "cupped"
## [3984] "wetness"
## [3985] "alyn"
## [3986] "predawn"
## [3987] "groggy"
## [3988] "matters"
## [3989] "flap"
## [3990] "tent"
## [3991] "country"
## [3992] "rub"
## [3993] "mist"
## [3994] "earshot"
## [3995] "crested"
## [3996] "exhilarated"
## [3997] "reined"
## [3998] "feels"
## [3999] "creeping"
## [4000] "creaks"
## [4001] "groans"
## [4002] "bump"
## [4003] "wretched"
## [4004] "breaks"
## [4005] "axle"
## [4006] "torch"
## [4007] "vagabond"
## [4008] "farmer’s"
## [4009] "tavern"
## [4010] "beds"
## [4011] "grumbled"
## [4012] "becca"
## [4013] "drown"
## [4014] "aleena"
## [4015] "merryl"
## [4016] "wylla"
## [4017] "courtesy"
## [4018] "dishonored"
## [4019] "baelor"
## [4020] "prickly"
## [4021] "hedgehog"
## [4022] "mists"
## [4023] "flatness"
## [4024] "hummocks"
## [4025] "barrows"
## [4026] "graveyard"
## [4027] "graves"
## [4028] "bicker"
## [4029] "varys"
## [4030] "whisperers"
## [4031] "unrolled"
## [4032] "trepidation"
## [4033] "accusation"
## [4034] "source"
## [4035] "information"
## [4036] "bluntly"
## [4037] "mormonts"
## [4038] "swell"
## [4039] "coffers"
## [4040] "explained"
## [4041] "spy"
## [4042] "corpse"
## [4043] "spies"
## [4044] "corpses"
## [4045] "report"
## [4046] "horselord"
## [4047] "wield"
## [4048] "feign"
## [4049] "hatred"
## [4050] "exchanged"
## [4051] "token"
## [4052] "fealty"
## [4053] "murder"
## [4054] "babes"
## [4055] "dragonspawn"
## [4056] "calm"
## [4057] "rage"
## [4058] "reconcile"
## [4059] "resolved"
## [4060] "slaughter"
## [4061] "innocents"
## [4062] "babe"
## [4063] "torn"
## [4064] "dashed"
## [4065] "innocent"
## [4066] "breeding"
## [4067] "plague"
## [4068] "unspeakable"
## [4069] "raped"
## [4070] "whinnied"
## [4071] "quieting"
## [4072] "defy"
## [4073] "wrath"
## [4074] "quenched"
## [4075] "revenge"
## [4076] "grimace"
## [4077] "pox"
## [4078] "cheesemonger"
## [4079] "walled"
## [4080] "hatted"
## [4081] "eunuchs"
## [4082] "wise"
## [4083] "threat"
## [4084] "ships"
## [4085] "shifted"
## [4086] "uncomfortably"
## [4087] "bide"
## [4088] "crosses"
## [4089] "traitors"
## [4090] "mischance"
## [4091] "choose"
## [4092] "proved"
## [4093] "siege"
## [4094] "hang"
## [4095] "uncomfortable"
## [4096] "annoyance"
## [4097] "motion"
## [4098] "rumors"
## [4099] "courageous"
## [4100] "unsaid"
## [4101] "appointment"
## [4102] "appears"
## [4103] "looms"
## [4104] "succeeding"
## [4105] "anytime"
## [4106] "vex"
## [4107] "frankly"
## [4108] "unable"
## [4109] "grasses"
## [4110] "wife’s"
## [4111] "targaryen’s"
## [4112] "mistrust"
## [4113] "taint"
## [4114] "vow"
## [4115] "reining"
## [4116] "barrow"
## [4117] "pursuit"
## [4118] "remnants"
## [4119] "loyalists"
## [4120] "shake"
## [4121] "flew"
## [4122] "ramparts"
## [4123] "raged"
## [4124] "flocked"
## [4125] "aloof"
## [4126] "struggle"
## [4127] "ignoring"
## [4128] "calls"
## [4129] "rebels"
## [4130] "royalists"
## [4131] "professing"
## [4132] "act"
## [4133] "lions"
## [4134] "bitterness"
## [4135] "avenged"
## [4136] "halting"
## [4137] "mock"
## [4138] "cowherds"
## [4139] "drowned"
## [4140] "lannister’s"
## [4141] "lion’s"
## [4142] "comfortable"
## [4143] "moments"
## [4144] "seventeen"
## [4145] "killing"
## [4146] "weary"
## [4147] "jaime’s"
## [4148] "heartily"
## [4149] "squabbles"
## [4150] "let’s"
## [4151] "raining"
## [4152] "helplessness"
## [4153] "curb"
## [4154] "wildness"
## [4155] "belonged"
## [4156] "resigned"
## [4157] "map"
## [4158] "commotion"
## [4159] "departure"
## [4160] "rattle"
## [4161] "groaning"
## [4162] "flurried"
## [4163] "town"
## [4164] "tumult"
## [4165] "flint"
## [4166] "rugged"
## [4167] "watchtowers"
## [4168] "stony"
## [4169] "summits"
## [4170] "flattening"
## [4171] "bridges"
## [4172] "spanned"
## [4173] "farms"
## [4174] "trafficked"
## [4175] "inns"
## [4176] "farmland"
## [4177] "wilder"
## [4178] "mile"
## [4179] "promontories"
## [4180] "plumes"
## [4181] "crystals"
## [4182] "peaks"
## [4183] "veered"
## [4184] "northeast"
## [4185] "evergreen"
## [4186] "brier"
## [4187] "wolfswood"
## [4188] "howls"
## [4189] "packs"
## [4190] "pricked"
## [4191] "nightly"
## [4192] "unsettling"
## [4193] "befit"
## [4194] "yoren"
## [4195] "stooped"
## [4196] "sinister"
## [4197] "clothing"
## [4198] "tough"
## [4199] "peasant"
## [4200] "rapers"
## [4201] "charges"
## [4202] "preferable"
## [4203] "castration"
## [4204] "ravens"
## [4205] "fellowship"
## [4206] "odd"
## [4207] "matted"
## [4208] "lice"
## [4209] "patched"
## [4210] "recruits"
## [4211] "awakening"
## [4212] "sympathy"
## [4213] "intentions"
## [4214] "curtly"
## [4215] "chilled"
## [4216] "tattered"
## [4217] "bearskin"
## [4218] "musty"
## [4219] "smelling"
## [4220] "excess"
## [4221] "gallantry"
## [4222] "graciously"
## [4223] "decline"
## [4224] "warmest"
## [4225] "discovered"
## [4226] "woolens"
## [4227] "regretting"
## [4228] "chivalrous"
## [4229] "impulse"
## [4230] "declined"
## [4231] "scarcer"
## [4232] "northward"
## [4233] "resources"
## [4234] "hobbled"
## [4235] "erected"
## [4236] "shelters"
## [4237] "tended"
## [4238] "wineskin"
## [4239] "eighteenth"
## [4240] "amber"
## [4241] "rumination"
## [4242] "properties"
## [4243] "permission"
## [4244] "volumes"
## [4245] "spot"
## [4246] "grotesquely"
## [4247] "content"
## [4248] "lighter"
## [4249] "flexible"
## [4250] "impervious"
## [4251] "greatly"
## [4252] "prized"
## [4253] "armed"
## [4254] "outrange"
## [4255] "morbid"
## [4256] "replaced"
## [4257] "persisted"
## [4258] "dank"
## [4259] "cellar"
## [4260] "stored"
## [4261] "impressive"
## [4262] "sensed"
## [4263] "thrust"
## [4264] "leap"
## [4265] "curving"
## [4266] "diamond"
## [4267] "bathed"
## [4268] "sockets"
## [4269] "century"
## [4270] "recent"
## [4271] "mastiff’s"
## [4272] "oddly"
## [4273] "misshapen"
## [4274] "hatchlings"
## [4275] "ranged"
## [4276] "upward"
## [4277] "unleashed"
## [4278] "balerion"
## [4279] "meraxes"
## [4280] "vhaghar"
## [4281] "gaping"
## [4282] "awed"
## [4283] "vhaghar’s"
## [4284] "gullet"
## [4285] "aurochs"
## [4286] "mammoths"
## [4287] "wastes"
## [4288] "balerion’s"
## [4289] "skull"
## [4290] "skies"
## [4291] "remote"
## [4292] "ancestor"
## [4293] "loren"
## [4294] "mern"
## [4295] "provinces"
## [4296] "flying"
## [4297] "chroniclers"
## [4298] "conscripts"
## [4299] "ranks"
## [4300] "loyalties"
## [4301] "hosts"
## [4302] "wheat"
## [4303] "harvest"
## [4304] "charged"
## [4305] "escaped"
## [4306] "pledge"
## [4307] "beget"
## [4308] "duly"
## [4309] "suspiciously"
## [4310] "remarkably"
## [4311] "polite"
## [4312] "difficulty"
## [4313] "design"
## [4314] "swordsman"
## [4315] "slaver’s"
## [4316] "grotesquerie"
## [4317] "alas"
## [4318] "grotesqueries"
## [4319] "poorer"
## [4320] "ironies"
## [4321] "repulsive"
## [4322] "agree"
## [4323] "prefer"
## [4324] "realistic"
## [4325] "strengths"
## [4326] "weaknesses"
## [4327] "whetstone"
## [4328] "tapped"
## [4329] "guarded"
## [4330] "stare"
## [4331] "pretending"
## [4332] "dragonfire"
## [4333] "horror"
## [4334] "guffawed"
## [4335] "horrified"
## [4336] "eyebrow"
## [4337] "smart"
## [4338] "midden"
## [4339] "heap"
## [4340] "misfits"
## [4341] "peasants"
## [4342] "debtors"
## [4343] "grumkins"
## [4344] "snarks"
## [4345] "balls"
## [4346] "breed"
## [4347] "coiling"
## [4348] "fists"
## [4349] "absurdly"
## [4350] "guilty"
## [4351] "reassuring"
## [4352] "pat"
## [4353] "apology"
## [4354] "walking"
## [4355] "rocky"
## [4356] "spinning"
## [4357] "rotting"
## [4358] "spasmed"
## [4359] "painfully"
## [4360] "frustration"
## [4361] "growl"
## [4362] "sagged"
## [4363] "grunt"
## [4364] "nicely"
## [4365] "humiliated"
## [4366] "assistance"
## [4367] "mildly"
## [4368] "attack"
## [4369] "sidelong"
## [4370] "grumkin"
## [4371] "snort"
## [4372] "nose"
## [4373] "choking"
## [4374] "stopper"
## [4375] "tilted"
## [4376] "trickled"
## [4377] "cautious"
## [4378] "scooped"
## [4379] "tumbledown"
## [4380] "stew"
## [4381] "nostrils"
## [4382] "morrec"
## [4383] "stewpot"
## [4384] "ladle"
## [4385] "pepper"
## [4386] "baffled"
## [4387] "grunted"
## [4388] "cheese"
## [4389] "mellow"
## [4390] "sadly"
## [4391] "account"
## [4392] "reviewed"
## [4393] "forehead"
## [4394] "replenish"
## [4395] "stores"
## [4396] "establish"
## [4397] "eddard’s"
## [4398] "niche"
## [4399] "fiddled"
## [4400] "wick"
## [4401] "appointments"
## [4402] "shaken"
## [4403] "whit"
## [4404] "butcher"
## [4405] "doorway"
## [4406] "flush"
## [4407] "list"
## [4408] "vacant"
## [4409] "offices"
## [4410] "windblown"
## [4411] "departed"
## [4412] "begged"
## [4413] "choosing"
## [4414] "limp"
## [4415] "what’s"
## [4416] "clutching"
## [4417] "chewing"
## [4418] "emotion"
## [4419] "stuffy"
## [4420] "louder"
## [4421] "despair"
## [4422] "sweetest"
## [4423] "gentlest"
## [4424] "knighthood"
## [4425] "sobbing"
## [4426] "wept"
## [4427] "shutters"
## [4428] "added"
## [4429] "mournful"
## [4430] "barking"
## [4431] "they’ve"
## [4432] "lamplight"
## [4433] "tower’s"
## [4434] "reddish"
## [4435] "bailey"
## [4436] "fire’s"
## [4437] "descending"
## [4438] "screams"
## [4439] "whinny"
## [4440] "frantic"
## [4441] "cacophony"
## [4442] "tongues"
## [4443] "s’posed"
## [4444] "dirty"
## [4445] "filthy"
## [4446] "stank"
## [4447] "dagger"
## [4448] "stuck"
## [4449] "merest"
## [4450] "clamped"
## [4451] "windpipe"
## [4452] "overwhelming"
## [4453] "slippery"
## [4454] "shutting"
## [4455] "sucked"
## [4456] "stupidly"
## [4457] "shriek"
## [4458] "glowed"
## [4459] "cleaned"
## [4460] "hysterically"
## [4461] "burst"
## [4462] "blankets"
## [4463] "undressed"
## [4464] "cuts"
## [4465] "scalp"
## [4466] "bleeding"
## [4467] "handful"
## [4468] "nightmare"
## [4469] "resolute"
## [4470] "bandages"
## [4471] "bidding"
## [4472] "ashamed"
## [4473] "lastly"
## [4474] "hallis"
## [4475] "mollen"
## [4476] "m’lady"
## [4477] "hal"
## [4478] "unnoticed"
## [4479] "stalls"
## [4480] "acting"
## [4481] "simple"
## [4482] "ninety"
## [4483] "stags"
## [4484] "bag"
## [4485] "straw"
## [4486] "cheaply"
## [4487] "muttering"
## [4488] "firstborn"
## [4489] "challenging"
## [4490] "butter"
## [4491] "preserves"
## [4492] "rasher"
## [4493] "wedge"
## [4494] "pot"
## [4495] "mint"
## [4496] "tea"
## [4497] "appetite"
## [4498] "unchanged"
## [4499] "throbbed"
## [4500] "killer"
## [4501] "rn’lady"
## [4502] "warrant"
## [4503] "circumstances"
## [4504] "examine"
## [4505] "vouch"
## [4506] "villain’s"
## [4507] "altogether"
## [4508] "oaths"
## [4509] "deadly"
## [4510] "believes"
## [4511] "stillness"
## [4512] "limit"
## [4513] "ambition"
## [4514] "surehanded"
## [4515] "leagues"
## [4516] "foolish"
## [4517] "sheathed"
## [4518] "owes"
## [4519] "debt"
## [4520] "conjecture"
## [4521] "beloved"
## [4522] "accuse"
## [4523] "robes"
## [4524] "impetuous"
## [4525] "struggled"
## [4526] "bandaged"
## [4527] "arrival"
## [4528] "laying"
## [4529] "squad"
## [4530] "attracts"
## [4531] "unwelcome"
## [4532] "accompany"
## [4533] "burdened"
## [4534] "wheelhouses"
## [4535] "hire"
## [4536] "harbor"
## [4537] "brisk"
## [4538] "winds"
## [4539] "informed"
## [4540] "feeding"
## [4541] "comb"
## [4542] "drip"
## [4543] "appeased"
## [4544] "willful"
## [4545] "scowled"
## [4546] "wheedled"
## [4547] "breakfast"
## [4548] "cook’s"
## [4549] "invited"
## [4550] "nicest"
## [4551] "betrothed"
## [4552] "treasured"
## [4553] "ruining"
## [4554] "embarrassing"
## [4555] "inn’s"
## [4556] "creak"
## [4557] "wheels"
## [4558] "tents"
## [4559] "pavilions"
## [4560] "day’s"
## [4561] "march"
## [4562] "sprawling"
## [4563] "biggest"
## [4564] "accommodations"
## [4565] "addition"
## [4566] "banks"
## [4567] "enjoying"
## [4568] "process"
## [4569] "yesterday"
## [4570] "brush"
## [4571] "nymeria’s"
## [4572] "mycah"
## [4573] "upstream"
## [4574] "disbelief"
## [4575] "annoyed"
## [4576] "thrilled"
## [4577] "invitation"
## [4578] "fervently"
## [4579] "soiled"
## [4580] "crossing"
## [4581] "counted"
## [4582] "lizard"
## [4583] "rumbling"
## [4584] "causeway"
## [4585] "bog"
## [4586] "hated"
## [4587] "clammy"
## [4588] "thickets"
## [4589] "fungus"
## [4590] "bloomed"
## [4591] "floated"
## [4592] "stagnant"
## [4593] "pluck"
## [4594] "quicksands"
## [4595] "snakes"
## [4596] "floating"
## [4597] "submerged"
## [4598] "horsey"
## [4599] "raggedy"
## [4600] "bunch"
## [4601] "hoping"
## [4602] "behave"
## [4603] "rash"
## [4604] "ignorant"
## [4605] "itching"
## [4606] "welts"
## [4607] "splotches"
## [4608] "tangles"
## [4609] "chattering"
## [4610] "trek"
## [4611] "herd"
## [4612] "wriggled"
## [4613] "scolded"
## [4614] "spoken"
## [4615] "birth"
## [4616] "butcher’s"
## [4617] "slaughtering"
## [4618] "block"
## [4619] "expect"
## [4620] "affronted"
## [4621] "cakes"
## [4622] "adult"
## [4623] "reasonable"
## [4624] "smelly"
## [4625] "recline"
## [4626] "feather"
## [4627] "prattled"
## [4628] "heedless"
## [4629] "frustrated"
## [4630] "glaring"
## [4631] "nicer"
## [4632] "littler"
## [4633] "neared"
## [4634] "distress"
## [4635] "buzzing"
## [4636] "hive"
## [4637] "bees"
## [4638] "council"
## [4639] "hastily"
## [4640] "kneeling"
## [4641] "gorgeous"
## [4642] "intricate"
## [4643] "suit"
## [4644] "enameled"
## [4645] "brilliant"
## [4646] "chasings"
## [4647] "clasps"
## [4648] "handsomest"
## [4649] "powerfully"
## [4650] "jet"
## [4651] "framed"
## [4652] "rack"
## [4653] "proceedings"
## [4654] "pockmarked"
## [4655] "beardless"
## [4656] "deepset"
## [4657] "sprouting"
## [4658] "chainmail"
## [4659] "unadorned"
## [4660] "stained"
## [4661] "strapped"
## [4662] "visible"
## [4663] "hunting"
## [4664] "bumped"
## [4665] "mockery"
## [4666] "wrap"
## [4667] "comments"
## [4668] "titters"
## [4669] "hound’s"
## [4670] "nurses"
## [4671] "scaring"
## [4672] "faithful"
## [4673] "payne"
## [4674] "ofttimes"
## [4675] "ilyn"
## [4676] "frightens"
## [4677] "aspect"
## [4678] "wicked"
## [4679] "mng’s"
## [4680] "gale"
## [4681] "erupted"
## [4682] "befits"
## [4683] "irregular"
## [4684] "manner"
## [4685] "meeting"
## [4686] "councillor"
## [4687] "praise"
## [4688] "deeds"
## [4689] "flatter"
## [4690] "overmuch"
## [4691] "concede"
## [4692] "hand’s"
## [4693] "address"
## [4694] "quell"
## [4695] "antlers"
## [4696] "extreme"
## [4697] "prancing"
## [4698] "jackanapes"
## [4699] "beginning"
## [4700] "shouldered"
## [4701] "unsmiling"
## [4702] "menace"
## [4703] "silenced"
## [4704] "offended"
## [4705] "colorless"
## [4706] "strip"
## [4707] "soul"
## [4708] "talkative"
## [4709] "commented"
## [4710] "sly"
## [4711] "pincers"
## [4712] "eloquently"
## [4713] "unquestioned"
## [4714] "councillors"
## [4715] "postpone"
## [4716] "entertain"
## [4717] "formally"
## [4718] "gazed"
## [4719] "worshipfully"
## [4720] "rescued"
## [4721] "daeryssa"
## [4722] "championing"
## [4723] "naerys’s"
## [4724] "evil"
## [4725] "morgil’s"
## [4726] "slanders"
## [4727] "liable"
## [4728] "tie"
## [4729] "adroitly"
## [4730] "pommel"
## [4731] "admiringly"
## [4732] "tooth"
## [4733] "bank"
## [4734] "glorious"
## [4735] "magical"
## [4736] "courser"
## [4737] "reckless"
## [4738] "abandon"
## [4739] "adventures"
## [4740] "explored"
## [4741] "caves"
## [4742] "tracked"
## [4743] "shadowcat"
## [4744] "lair"
## [4745] "dined"
## [4746] "trout"
## [4747] "feasts"
## [4748] "refilling"
## [4749] "eaten"
## [4750] "dizzy"
## [4751] "battleground"
## [4752] "bends"
## [4753] "crunch"
## [4754] "imaginary"
## [4755] "clattering"
## [4756] "snack"
## [4757] "noises"
## [4758] "distinct"
## [4759] "clack"
## [4760] "someone’s"
## [4761] "wishing"
## [4762] "tremble"
## [4763] "overlooking"
## [4764] "broom"
## [4765] "handles"
## [4766] "lustily"
## [4767] "dodging"
## [4768] "lunge"
## [4769] "knuckles"
## [4770] "sting"
## [4771] "incredulously"
## [4772] "blushing"
## [4773] "freckled"
## [4774] "senior"
## [4775] "pick"
## [4776] "ast"
## [4777] "mycah’s"
## [4778] "bud"
## [4779] "blossomed"
## [4780] "crack"
## [4781] "split"
## [4782] "staggered"
## [4783] "spoiling"
## [4784] "hurled"
## [4785] "galloping"
## [4786] "obscenities"
## [4787] "darted"
## [4788] "hounding"
## [4789] "blur"
## [4790] "closing"
## [4791] "mangled"
## [4792] "heaved"
## [4793] "splash"
## [4794] "moaned"
## [4795] "loping"
## [4796] "sobbed"
## [4797] "tenderly"
## [4798] "vilest"
## [4799] "spit"
## [4800] "vayon"
## [4801] "harmed"
## [4802] "striding"
## [4803] "searches"
## [4804] "disappeared"
## [4805] "heartsick"
## [4806] "haste"
## [4807] "aware"
## [4808] "modest"
## [4809] "raymun"
## [4810] "conducted"
## [4811] "crammed"
## [4812] "tensions"
## [4813] "appropriated"
## [4814] "raymun’s"
## [4815] "settle"
## [4816] "amicably"
## [4817] "darry’s"
## [4818] "ringing"
## [4819] "sob"
## [4820] "caused"
## [4821] "pink"
## [4822] "tracks"
## [4823] "berries"
## [4824] "friendly"
## [4825] "hostile"
## [4826] "missing"
## [4827] "leading"
## [4828] "clubs"
## [4829] "liar"
## [4830] "irritation"
## [4831] "glowered"
## [4832] "stifled"
## [4833] "perchance"
## [4834] "disarm"
## [4835] "guffaw"
## [4836] "version"
## [4837] "events"
## [4838] "tearfully"
## [4839] "bolt"
## [4840] "shrieked"
## [4841] "arrow"
## [4842] "knocking"
## [4843] "pummeling"
## [4844] "punished"
## [4845] "lasting"
## [4846] "disciplined"
## [4847] "savaged"
## [4848] "tense"
## [4849] "trace"
## [4850] "unhappy"
## [4851] "brings"
## [4852] "costly"
## [4853] "pelt"
## [4854] "buy"
## [4855] "coolly"
## [4856] "niggardly"
## [4857] "wolfskin"
## [4858] "darkened"
## [4859] "triumph"
## [4860] "irritably"
## [4861] "happier"
## [4862] "bite"
## [4863] "angrily"
## [4864] "pleaded"
## [4865] "disengaging"
## [4866] "weariness"
## [4867] "chained"
## [4868] "gatehouse"
## [4869] "bile"
## [4870] "daughter’s"
## [4871] "wails"
## [4872] "echoing"
## [4873] "tasting"
## [4874] "prettiest"
## [4875] "shortly"
## [4876] "astonished"
## [4877] "affirmed"
## [4878] "pounding"
## [4879] "slung"
## [4880] "rasped"
## [4881] "wholly"
## [4882] "wasted"
## [4883] "shoved"
## [4884] "burden"
## [4885] "dreading"
## [4886] "dog’s"
## [4887] "fly"
## [4888] "smash"
## [4889] "crow"
## [4890] "spiraling"
## [4891] "pocket"
## [4892] "kernels"
## [4893] "kinds"
## [4894] "taut"
## [4895] "cawing"
## [4896] "pecked"
## [4897] "plunged"
## [4898] "tearful"
## [4899] "teaching"
## [4900] "begins"
## [4901] "insides"
## [4902] "tapestry"
## [4903] "eagles"
## [4904] "stubby"
## [4905] "balcony"
## [4906] "tube"
## [4907] "notes"
## [4908] "practicing"
## [4909] "swordplay"
## [4910] "anvil"
## [4911] "mikken’s"
## [4912] "forge"
## [4913] "hefting"
## [4914] "heft"
## [4915] "bale"
## [4916] "hay"
## [4917] "knowingly"
## [4918] "galley"
## [4919] "cabin"
## [4920] "rowers"
## [4921] "oars"
## [4922] "rail"
## [4923] "heaving"
## [4924] "lashed"
## [4925] "etched"
## [4926] "sunrise"
## [4927] "cloaked"
## [4928] "shore"
## [4929] "wasteland"
## [4930] "spires"
## [4931] "embrace"
## [4932] "spears"
## [4933] "dreamers"
## [4934] "impaled"
## [4935] "desperately"
## [4936] "unseen"
## [4937] "soared"
## [4938] "flapping"
## [4939] "slowing"
## [4940] "blinding"
## [4941] "faltered"
## [4942] "pinions"
## [4943] "beak"
## [4944] "stabbed"
## [4945] "cawed"
## [4946] "shrill"
## [4947] "veil"
## [4948] "basin"
## [4949] "shatter"
## [4950] "awake"
## [4951] "enfolded"
## [4952] "dash"
## [4953] "licking"
## [4954] "oarmen"
## [4955] "gratitude"
## [4956] "moreo"
## [4957] "turnitis"
## [4958] "reward"
## [4959] "they’ll"
## [4960] "fluently"
## [4961] "accent"
## [4962] "plying"
## [4963] "oarman"
## [4964] "quartermaster"
## [4965] "trading"
## [4966] "galleys"
## [4967] "fastest"
## [4968] "masted"
## [4969] "sixty"
## [4970] "downriver"
## [4971] "notorious"
## [4972] "avarice"
## [4973] "argued"
## [4974] "hiring"
## [4975] "fishing"
## [4976] "sloop"
## [4977] "voyage"
## [4978] "galley’s"
## [4979] "they’d"
## [4980] "skimming"
## [4981] "journey’s"
## [4982] "linen"
## [4983] "bitten"
## [4984] "scourge"
## [4985] "bend"
## [4986] "dexterous"
## [4987] "chose"
## [4988] "deck"
## [4989] "facial"
## [4990] "thinner"
## [4991] "roughness"
## [4992] "unexpectedly"
## [4993] "rope"
## [4994] "moreo’s"
## [4995] "decks"
## [4996] "prudent"
## [4997] "submit"
## [4998] "crewman’s"
## [4999] "hopelessly"
## [5000] "befouled"
## [5001] "retched"
## [5002] "skimmed"
## [5003] "dragonfly"
## [5004] "valiant"
## [5005] "protectors"
## [5006] "fumbling"
## [5007] "reassure"
## [5008] "trusted"
## [5009] "aron"
## [5010] "santagar"
## [5011] "vain"
## [5012] "honest"
## [5013] "nonplussed"
## [5014] "ashore"
## [5015] "baelish"
## [5016] "family’s"
## [5017] "holdings"
## [5018] "petyr"
## [5019] "slight"
## [5020] "trailed"
## [5021] "search"
## [5022] "feelings"
## [5023] "brotherly"
## [5024] "challenged"
## [5025] "spare"
## [5026] "petyr’s"
## [5027] "scar"
## [5028] "spray"
## [5029] "memories"
## [5030] "unread"
## [5031] "fumbled"
## [5032] "nonexistent"
## [5033] "clever"
## [5034] "rigging"
## [5035] "scrambling"
## [5036] "frenetic"
## [5037] "activity"
## [5038] "heights"
## [5039] "fisherfolk"
## [5040] "blackwater"
## [5041] "sailed"
## [5042] "crude"
## [5043] "redoubt"
## [5044] "manses"
## [5045] "arbors"
## [5046] "granaries"
## [5047] "storehouses"
## [5048] "timbered"
## [5049] "merchant’s"
## [5050] "taverns"
## [5051] "graveyards"
## [5052] "brothels"
## [5053] "piled"
## [5054] "clamor"
## [5055] "market"
## [5056] "buildings"
## [5057] "lined"
## [5058] "wandering"
## [5059] "crookback"
## [5060] "abreast"
## [5061] "visenya’s"
## [5062] "rhaenys"
## [5063] "dragonpit"
## [5064] "dome"
## [5065] "collapsing"
## [5066] "street"
## [5067] "quays"
## [5068] "waterfront"
## [5069] "deepwater"
## [5070] "boats"
## [5071] "runners"
## [5072] "ferrymen"
## [5073] "poled"
## [5074] "unloaded"
## [5075] "spied"
## [5076] "barge"
## [5077] "bellied"
## [5078] "whaler"
## [5079] "hull"
## [5080] "tar"
## [5081] "upriver"
## [5082] "warships"
## [5083] "cribs"
## [5084] "furled"
## [5085] "rams"
## [5086] "lapping"
## [5087] "aegon’s"
## [5088] "drum"
## [5089] "immense"
## [5090] "barbican"
## [5091] "studded"
## [5092] "archers"
## [5093] "maegor"
## [5094] "woodworker"
## [5095] "labored"
## [5096] "pranced"
## [5097] "swan"
## [5098] "steadily"
## [5099] "proceed"
## [5100] "pier"
## [5101] "vulgar"
## [5102] "earlier"
## [5103] "bellowed"
## [5104] "reversed"
## [5105] "thumped"
## [5106] "dock"
## [5107] "seamen"
## [5108] "bustling"
## [5109] "swifter"
## [5110] "surer"
## [5111] "passage"
## [5112] "someplace"
## [5113] "establishments"
## [5114] "payment"
## [5115] "extra"
## [5116] "dice"
## [5117] "choices"
## [5118] "earned"
## [5119] "bowing"
## [5120] "rambling"
## [5121] "eel"
## [5122] "alley"
## [5123] "owned"
## [5124] "crone"
## [5125] "nightfall"
## [5126] "fatiguing"
## [5127] "busy"
## [5128] "crowds"
## [5129] "advice"
## [5130] "stuffed"
## [5131] "fist"
## [5132] "hammered"
## [5133] "bedside"
## [5134] "unlatched"
## [5135] "authority"
## [5136] "ribbon"
## [5137] "mockingbird"
## [5138] "mistreated"
## [5139] "lace"
## [5140] "bodice"
## [5141] "knot"
## [5142] "drab"
## [5143] "lamps"
## [5144] "portcullis"
## [5145] "lights"
## [5146] "postern"
## [5147] "ushered"
## [5148] "pen"
## [5149] "cat"
## [5150] "fashion"
## [5151] "firm"
## [5152] "implied"
## [5153] "summoned"
## [5154] "icily"
## [5155] "angered"
## [5156] "contrite"
## [5157] "vivid"
## [5158] "mischiefs"
## [5159] "inch"
## [5160] "shorter"
## [5161] "threads"
## [5162] "joining"
## [5163] "familiarity"
## [5164] "spider"
## [5165] "winced"
## [5166] "sensitive"
## [5167] "oftimes"
## [5168] "informants"
## [5169] "thankfully"
## [5170] "yearn"
## [5171] "recited"
## [5172] "required"
## [5173] "bespeaks"
## [5174] "hesitate"
## [5175] "rely"
## [5176] "perfumed"
## [5177] "powdered"
## [5178] "vest"
## [5179] "lilacs"
## [5180] "marvelous"
## [5181] "salve"
## [5182] "jar"
## [5183] "hurts"
## [5184] "bobbed"
## [5185] "due"
## [5186] "spiderweb"
## [5187] "esteem"
## [5188] "quipped"
## [5189] "slyly"
## [5190] "varys’s"
## [5191] "solicitude"
## [5192] "wondrous"
## [5193] "healing"
## [5194] "powers"
## [5195] "dear"
## [5196] "stunned"
## [5197] "enchanter"
## [5198] "arrives"
## [5199] "assure"
## [5200] "hovel"
## [5201] "distressed"
## [5202] "whisperings"
## [5203] "exaggerated"
## [5204] "squeal"
## [5205] "holds"
## [5206] "admonition"
## [5207] "hefted"
## [5208] "testing"
## [5209] "flipped"
## [5210] "owner"
## [5211] "practiced"
## [5212] "flick"
## [5213] "quivering"
## [5214] "wrench"
## [5215] "jousting"
## [5216] "sheepish"
## [5217] "loras"
## [5218] "unhorsed"
## [5219] "trifle"
## [5220] "emerald"
## [5221] "pendant"
## [5222] "mail"
## [5223] "grenn"
## [5224] "defending"
## [5225] "clumsily"
## [5226] "sweeping"
## [5227] "grenn’s"
## [5228] "downcut"
## [5229] "overhand"
## [5230] "dented"
## [5231] "sideswing"
## [5232] "slammed"
## [5233] "mailed"
## [5234] "alliser"
## [5235] "thorne"
## [5236] "hamstrung"
## [5237] "rangers"
## [5238] "jeren"
## [5239] "toad"
## [5240] "funeral"
## [5241] "arrangements"
## [5242] "frosty"
## [5243] "savor"
## [5244] "cane"
## [5245] "crisp"
## [5246] "compact"
## [5247] "chips"
## [5248] "sniggered"
## [5249] "derision"
## [5250] "ineptitude"
## [5251] "lot"
## [5252] "fodder"
## [5253] "trained"
## [5254] "fighter"
## [5255] "dareon"
## [5256] "pyp"
## [5257] "halder’s"
## [5258] "brutally"
## [5259] "attacks"
## [5260] "despised"
## [5261] "hook"
## [5262] "methodically"
## [5263] "chunks"
## [5264] "coal"
## [5265] "braziers"
## [5266] "roughspun"
## [5267] "blacks"
## [5268] "everyday"
## [5269] "fastenings"
## [5270] "scant"
## [5271] "genial"
## [5272] "ranger"
## [5273] "officers"
## [5274] "sought"
## [5275] "earns"
## [5276] "favors"
## [5277] "vows"
## [5278] "mind’s"
## [5279] "loneliness"
## [5280] "cell"
## [5281] "solitude"
## [5282] "rival"
## [5283] "muss"
## [5284] "finish"
## [5285] "todder"
## [5286] "unpleasant"
## [5287] "brutes"
## [5288] "bullies"
## [5289] "thimble"
## [5290] "scare"
## [5291] "lanced"
## [5292] "pig"
## [5293] "shiny"
## [5294] "mommy’s"
## [5295] "whore"
## [5296] "heel"
## [5297] "instep"
## [5298] "slamming"
## [5299] "throwing"
## [5300] "booming"
## [5301] "gloom"
## [5302] "donal"
## [5303] "noye"
## [5304] "glowering"
## [5305] "armorer"
## [5306] "quarrels"
## [5307] "gingerly"
## [5308] "briefest"
## [5309] "sprain"
## [5310] "cells"
## [5311] "oblivious"
## [5312] "promises"
## [5313] "retribution"
## [5314] "throbbing"
## [5315] "flared"
## [5316] "prevent"
## [5317] "fathering"
## [5318] "sullenly"
## [5319] "brazier"
## [5320] "twisting"
## [5321] "ale"
## [5322] "pin"
## [5323] "septon’s"
## [5324] "cotter"
## [5325] "pyke"
## [5326] "baseborn"
## [5327] "eastwatch"
## [5328] "smithed"
## [5329] "feasted"
## [5330] "wenched"
## [5331] "who’d"
## [5332] "glancing"
## [5333] "festered"
## [5334] "crippled"
## [5335] "slit"
## [5336] "bully"
## [5337] "choked"
## [5338] "unjust"
## [5339] "defensively"
## [5340] "wager"
## [5341] "trap"
## [5342] "fathers"
## [5343] "farmers"
## [5344] "wagonmen"
## [5345] "smiths"
## [5346] "miners"
## [5347] "oldtown"
## [5348] "lannisport"
## [5349] "wayside"
## [5350] "clacked"
## [5351] "victories"
## [5352] "force"
## [5353] "midday"
## [5354] "blazing"
## [5355] "crystalline"
## [5356] "shivers"
## [5357] "pocked"
## [5358] "scoured"
## [5359] "covering"
## [5360] "film"
## [5361] "overcast"
## [5362] "colossal"
## [5363] "useless"
## [5364] "horizon"
## [5365] "stretching"
## [5366] "vanishing"
## [5367] "unbroken"
## [5368] "lacking"
## [5369] "defended"
## [5370] "sheltered"
## [5371] "outlines"
## [5372] "catapults"
## [5373] "cranes"
## [5374] "skeletons"
## [5375] "ants"
## [5376] "overwhelmed"
## [5377] "topple"
## [5378] "bundled"
## [5379] "thickly"
## [5380] "unawares"
## [5381] "mormont’s"
## [5382] "dicing"
## [5383] "bowen"
## [5384] "marsh"
## [5385] "immediately"
## [5386] "mysteries"
## [5387] "rayder’s"
## [5388] "lakes"
## [5389] "lots"
## [5390] "bowl"
## [5391] "creaking"
## [5392] "shutter"
## [5393] "banging"
## [5394] "muffled"
## [5395] "board"
## [5396] "bothers"
## [5397] "stays"
## [5398] "hardin’s"
## [5399] "battlement"
## [5400] "housed"
## [5401] "tenth"
## [5402] "arrest"
## [5403] "stonemasons"
## [5404] "collapses"
## [5405] "denying"
## [5406] "strongholds"
## [5407] "occupied"
## [5408] "windswept"
## [5409] "whistled"
## [5410] "manned"
## [5411] "subject"
## [5412] "sensing"
## [5413] "unremarked"
## [5414] "drafty"
## [5415] "timbers"
## [5416] "lofty"
## [5417] "cries"
## [5418] "diners"
## [5419] "sniffing"
## [5420] "barley"
## [5421] "carrot"
## [5422] "turnip"
## [5423] "mutton"
## [5424] "steam"
## [5425] "thorne’s"
## [5426] "alliser’s"
## [5427] "questioned"
## [5428] "commander’s"
## [5429] "dashing"
## [5430] "presence"
## [5431] "jeor"
## [5432] "gruff"
## [5433] "raven"
## [5434] "roll"
## [5435] "traced"
## [5436] "outline"
## [5437] "letters"
## [5438] "mattered"
## [5439] "fistful"
## [5440] "finishing"
## [5441] "whooped"
## [5442] "bandage"
## [5443] "menacing"
## [5444] "defend"
## [5445] "overheard"
## [5446] "sneered"
## [5447] "juggle"
## [5448] "rafters"
## [5449] "chuckle"
## [5450] "error"
## [5451] "acid"
## [5452] "tones"
## [5453] "towering"
## [5454] "irritable"
## [5455] "ahorse"
## [5456] "dreaming"
## [5457] "roast"
## [5458] "fowl"
## [5459] "convened"
## [5460] "requested"
## [5461] "convenient"
## [5462] "regrets"
## [5463] "presentable"
## [5464] "tucked"
## [5465] "exploring"
## [5466] "straggling"
## [5467] "richly"
## [5468] "furnished"
## [5469] "myrish"
## [5470] "carpets"
## [5471] "rushes"
## [5472] "fabulous"
## [5473] "cavorted"
## [5474] "paints"
## [5475] "screen"
## [5476] "norvos"
## [5477] "sphinxes"
## [5478] "garnet"
## [5479] "smoldering"
## [5480] "marble"
## [5481] "accosted"
## [5482] "troubles"
## [5483] "visiting"
## [5484] "candles"
## [5485] "recovery"
## [5486] "powder"
## [5487] "foul"
## [5488] "eunuch’s"
## [5489] "disconcerting"
## [5490] "spends"
## [5491] "cape"
## [5492] "crimes"
## [5493] "jibe"
## [5494] "bordered"
## [5495] "mentioned"
## [5496] "arrogance"
## [5497] "rankled"
## [5498] "shuffled"
## [5499] "dueling"
## [5500] "ill"
## [5501] "suits"
## [5502] "melt"
## [5503] "plan"
## [5504] "tire"
## [5505] "wispy"
## [5506] "fringed"
## [5507] "chains"
## [5508] "ponderous"
## [5509] "necklace"
## [5510] "links"
## [5511] "tin"
## [5512] "brass"
## [5513] "platinum"
## [5514] "garnets"
## [5515] "pearls"
## [5516] "adorned"
## [5517] "metalwork"
## [5518] "ruby"
## [5519] "knitting"
## [5520] "forcefully"
## [5521] "belong"
## [5522] "rides"
## [5523] "entrusts"
## [5524] "lighten"
## [5525] "load"
## [5526] "crops"
## [5527] "bores"
## [5528] "falls"
## [5529] "convene"
## [5530] "flattened"
## [5531] "mounting"
## [5532] "folly"
## [5533] "salt"
## [5534] "instructs"
## [5535] "stage"
## [5536] "tournament"
## [5537] "champion"
## [5538] "melee"
## [5539] "victor"
## [5540] "archery"
## [5541] "competition"
## [5542] "costs"
## [5543] "prodigious"
## [5544] "carpenters"
## [5545] "jugglers"
## [5546] "treasury"
## [5547] "expense"
## [5548] "foolishness"
## [5549] "borrow"
## [5550] "accommodating"
## [5551] "claiming"
## [5552] "cartels"
## [5553] "haggles"
## [5554] "dornish"
## [5555] "fishmonger"
## [5556] "aghast"
## [5557] "flowing"
## [5558] "clinking"
## [5559] "tournaments"
## [5560] "loathes"
## [5561] "extravagance"
## [5562] "plans"
## [5563] "equals"
## [5564] "softer"
## [5565] "resume"
## [5566] "fresher"
## [5567] "pouring"
## [5568] "ugliness"
## [5569] "separate"
## [5570] "misery"
## [5571] "blamed"
## [5572] "hell"
## [5573] "reserved"
## [5574] "outer"
## [5575] "stair"
## [5576] "corridor"
## [5577] "relics"
## [5578] "cresting"
## [5579] "helms"
## [5580] "sarcasm"
## [5581] "awaits"
## [5582] "littlefinger’s"
## [5583] "astonishing"
## [5584] "impersonation"
## [5585] "intrigues"
## [5586] "mead"
## [5587] "crossbar"
## [5588] "ruddy"
## [5589] "bluff"
## [5590] "smirk"
## [5591] "niches"
## [5592] "monkey"
## [5593] "dizzying"
## [5594] "water’s"
## [5595] "lazing"
## [5596] "apple"
## [5597] "core"
## [5598] "flipping"
## [5599] "trotted"
## [5600] "rein"
## [5601] "ramshackle"
## [5602] "globe"
## [5603] "leaded"
## [5604] "brothel"
## [5605] "wobbled"
## [5606] "recognition"
## [5607] "upstairs"
## [5608] "jape"
## [5609] "lecherous"
## [5610] "fondle"
## [5611] "shifts"
## [5612] "lovers"
## [5613] "dandled"
## [5614] "laps"
## [5615] "wonderment"
## [5616] "reports"
## [5617] "easing"
## [5618] "establishment"
## [5619] "learning"
## [5620] "stiffness"
## [5621] "gash"
## [5622] "spill"
## [5623] "life’s"
## [5624] "dazed"
## [5625] "imp’s"
## [5626] "nought"
## [5627] "acted"
## [5628] "paced"
## [5629] "role"
## [5630] "barrowlands"
## [5631] "sending"
## [5632] "cloven"
## [5633] "treason"
## [5634] "hireling"
## [5635] "moldering"
## [5636] "molder"
## [5637] "dissuade"
## [5638] "willingly"
## [5639] "include"
## [5640] "attached"
## [5641] "fool’s"
## [5642] "admittedly"
## [5643] "thrusting"
## [5644] "art"
## [5645] "dismissive"
## [5646] "secrecy"
## [5647] "obscenity"
## [5648] "pie"
## [5649] "worry"
## [5650] "assassin"
## [5651] "unwise"
## [5652] "maimed"
## [5653] "strolled"
## [5654] "sentimental"
## [5655] "convincing"
## [5656] "naught"
## [5657] "exiting"
## [5658] "helman"
## [5659] "tallhart"
## [5660] "galbart"
## [5661] "glover"
## [5662] "raise"
## [5663] "bowmen"
## [5664] "fortify"
## [5665] "moat"
## [5666] "cailin"
## [5667] "determined"
## [5668] "manderly"
## [5669] "strengthen"
## [5670] "repair"
## [5671] "defenses"
## [5672] "merciless"
## [5673] "masquerade"
## [5674] "amiss"
## [5675] "scarred"
## [5676] "crab"
## [5677] "cunning"
## [5678] "scour"
## [5679] "crabs"
## [5680] "barrel"
## [5681] "succulent"
## [5682] "mocks"
## [5683] "quality"
## [5684] "remark"
## [5685] "guffaws"
## [5686] "japes"
## [5687] "duel"
## [5688] "poking"
## [5689] "roars"
## [5690] "bits"
## [5691] "choke"
## [5692] "butt"
## [5693] "gasping"
## [5694] "pounded"
## [5695] "spoils"
## [5696] "claim"
## [5697] "recovered"
## [5698] "provoke"
## [5699] "target"
## [5700] "objected"
## [5701] "pomegranate"
## [5702] "droll"
## [5703] "lads"
## [5704] "trains"
## [5705] "chip"
## [5706] "mucking"
## [5707] "shortage"
## [5708] "sneak"
## [5709] "jaremy"
## [5710] "rykker"
## [5711] "dryly"
## [5712] "spikes"
## [5713] "evenfall"
## [5714] "decorating"
## [5715] "striking"
## [5716] "purpose"
## [5717] "mocked"
## [5718] "clouded"
## [5719] "loss"
## [5720] "politely"
## [5721] "wrinkled"
## [5722] "metals"
## [5723] "jyck"
## [5724] "brooked"
## [5725] "insist"
## [5726] "kin"
## [5727] "maege"
## [5728] "dishonor"
## [5729] "nieces"
## [5730] "repay"
## [5731] "fewer"
## [5732] "yohn"
## [5733] "yielded"
## [5734] "beady"
## [5735] "ruffling"
## [5736] "throttled"
## [5737] "irritating"
## [5738] "forswore"
## [5739] "seventy"
## [5740] "summers"
## [5741] "embarrassed"
## [5742] "senses"
## [5743] "misremember"
## [5744] "maesters"
## [5745] "earliest"
## [5746] "citadel"
## [5747] "findings"
## [5748] "accord"
## [5749] "stares"
## [5750] "deaf"
## [5751] "walkers"
## [5752] "merlings"
## [5753] "denys"
## [5754] "slipping"
## [5755] "sweeps"
## [5756] "sleepy"
## [5757] "perched"
## [5758] "wretches"
## [5759] "patches"
## [5760] "armpits"
## [5761] "bricks"
## [5762] "glimmered"
## [5763] "mysterious"
## [5764] "yearning"
## [5765] "desolation"
## [5766] "palisade"
## [5767] "ascended"
## [5768] "anchored"
## [5769] "hewn"
## [5770] "switched"
## [5771] "clawing"
## [5772] "assured"
## [5773] "ascent"
## [5774] "clambered"
## [5775] "pulls"
## [5776] "eternity"
## [5777] "bars"
## [5778] "whim"
## [5779] "jerk"
## [5780] "ascend"
## [5781] "fits"
## [5782] "smoothly"
## [5783] "approval"
## [5784] "inching"
## [5785] "windowless"
## [5786] "crumbling"
## [5787] "mole’s"
## [5788] "village"
## [5789] "league"
## [5790] "bleak"
## [5791] "ropes"
## [5792] "figure"
## [5793] "winch"
## [5794] "scarves"
## [5795] "shack"
## [5796] "crane"
## [5797] "gust"
## [5798] "bitingly"
## [5799] "insistent"
## [5800] "lover"
## [5801] "wider"
## [5802] "slicker"
## [5803] "walkways"
## [5804] "countless"
## [5805] "gravel"
## [5806] "crush"
## [5807] "abyss"
## [5808] "pathway"
## [5809] "freshest"
## [5810] "western"
## [5811] "catapult"
## [5812] "repairs"
## [5813] "embedded"
## [5814] "yanking"
## [5815] "scarf"
## [5816] "uncover"
## [5817] "spear"
## [5818] "tipped"
## [5819] "warhorn"
## [5820] "banded"
## [5821] "captured"
## [5822] "chew"
## [5823] "impassively"
## [5824] "manhood"
## [5825] "arranged"
## [5826] "drill"
## [5827] "disappointed"
## [5828] "halder"
## [5829] "dropping"
## [5830] "pypar"
## [5831] "pacing"
## [5832] "deliver"
## [5833] "horseshoes"
## [5834] "he’ll"
## [5835] "lame"
## [5836] "sincere"
## [5837] "result"
## [5838] "parapet"
## [5839] "harvested"
## [5840] "create"
## [5841] "swath"
## [5842] "fortresses"
## [5843] "wildwood"
## [5844] "decades"
## [5845] "sentinels"
## [5846] "firewood"
## [5847] "axes"
## [5848] "parallel"
## [5849] "penetrate"
## [5850] "thorn"
## [5851] "grasping"
## [5852] "guts"
## [5853] "jokes"
## [5854] "horn"
## [5855] "direwolf’s"
## [5856] "soup"
## [5857] "pumpkins"
## [5858] "trestle"
## [5859] "border"
## [5860] "folds"
## [5861] "wearers"
## [5862] "signaled"
## [5863] "garlic"
## [5864] "herbs"
## [5865] "joust"
## [5866] "drawing"
## [5867] "reproach"
## [5868] "arrange"
## [5869] "event"
## [5870] "pained"
## [5871] "stinging"
## [5872] "forks"
## [5873] "excuse"
## [5874] "whispers"
## [5875] "joke"
## [5876] "jacks"
## [5877] "porther"
## [5878] "dine"
## [5879] "envoys"
## [5880] "solar"
## [5881] "tease"
## [5882] "sentences"
## [5883] "courtly"
## [5884] "snowballs"
## [5885] "scones"
## [5886] "invented"
## [5887] "babies"
## [5888] "maidens"
## [5889] "tom"
## [5890] "supped"
## [5891] "arriving"
## [5892] "horrible"
## [5893] "slaughtered"
## [5894] "congealing"
## [5895] "post"
## [5896] "guarding"
## [5897] "hammering"
## [5898] "huffed"
## [5899] "puffed"
## [5900] "slab"
## [5901] "bands"
## [5902] "bar"
## [5903] "sniffling"
## [5904] "hating"
## [5905] "lid"
## [5906] "grabbing"
## [5907] "handfuls"
## [5908] "tossing"
## [5909] "rue"
## [5910] "behavior"
## [5911] "receding"
## [5912] "surrendered"
## [5913] "examining"
## [5914] "bravo’s"
## [5915] "maker’s"
## [5916] "mark"
## [5917] "curt"
## [5918] "impossible"
## [5919] "nonsense"
## [5920] "defiantly"
## [5921] "sadness"
## [5922] "skewer"
## [5923] "essence"
## [5924] "grieve"
## [5925] "serves"
## [5926] "confided"
## [5927] "lied"
## [5928] "guiltily"
## [5929] "miserably"
## [5930] "deer"
## [5931] "whined"
## [5932] "shamed"
## [5933] "survives"
## [5934] "hearts"
## [5935] "willfulness"
## [5936] "morningstar"
## [5937] "pillow"
## [5938] "stab"
## [5939] "provocation"
## [5940] "unfamiliar"
## [5941] "lilt"
## [5942] "clicked"
## [5943] "balancing"
## [5944] "approve"
## [5945] "sideface"
## [5946] "shaft"
## [5947] "prying"
## [5948] "rearranging"
## [5949] "squeeze"
## [5950] "syrio"
## [5951] "forel"
## [5952] "sealord"
## [5953] "hacking"
## [5954] "pierce"
## [5955] "leaks"
## [5956] "aching"
## [5957] "expanse"
## [5958] "waves"
## [5959] "blooms"
## [5960] "season"
## [5961] "hranna"
## [5962] "indigo"
## [5963] "rainbows"
## [5964] "oceans"
## [5965] "stalks"
## [5966] "milkglass"
## [5967] "murders"
## [5968] "glows"
## [5969] "entire"
## [5970] "outdistanced"
## [5971] "handmaid"
## [5972] "khas"
## [5973] "fluid"
## [5974] "centaurs"
## [5975] "hospitality"
## [5976] "cheat"
## [5977] "complaints"
## [5978] "hawk"
## [5979] "swayed"
## [5980] "spoil"
## [5981] "wheeled"
## [5982] "fearlessly"
## [5983] "sores"
## [5984] "blistered"
## [5985] "wracked"
## [5986] "evenings"
## [5987] "relentlessly"
## [5988] "muffle"
## [5989] "snore"
## [5990] "bruised"
## [5991] "magma"
## [5992] "sear"
## [5993] "blacken"
## [5994] "slough"
## [5995] "boil"
## [5996] "onward"
## [5997] "blisters"
## [5998] "toughened"
## [5999] "teacher"
## [6000] "moods"
## [6001] "unsentimental"
## [6002] "ordeal"
## [6003] "beauties"
## [6004] "unspoiled"
## [6005] "verdant"
## [6006] "terraced"
## [6007] "villages"
## [6008] "townsfolk"
## [6009] "stucco"
## [6010] "forded"
## [6011] "placid"
## [6012] "treacherous"
## [6013] "waterfall"
## [6014] "skirted"
## [6015] "tumbled"
## [6016] "ruins"
## [6017] "elk"
## [6018] "tigers"
## [6019] "lemurs"
## [6020] "agony"
## [6021] "fading"
## [6022] "wonders"
## [6023] "blessedly"
## [6024] "submerging"
## [6025] "scents"
## [6026] "mixed"
## [6027] "smells"
## [6028] "curl"
## [6029] "graze"
## [6030] "rearing"
## [6031] "stumbling"
## [6032] "horselord’s"
## [6033] "slut"
## [6034] "incredulous"
## [6035] "defied"
## [6036] "thunder"
## [6037] "coil"
## [6038] "hooted"
## [6039] "jhogo"
## [6040] "quaro"
## [6041] "coils"
## [6042] "incoherently"
## [6043] "puppet"
## [6044] "string"
## [6045] "freed"
## [6046] "noisily"
## [6047] "pitiful"
## [6048] "horsemen"
## [6049] "decision"
## [6050] "remounted"
## [6051] "scouts"
## [6052] "alert"
## [6053] "prey"
## [6054] "outriders"
## [6055] "flanks"
## [6056] "puzzle"
## [6057] "reigned"
## [6058] "jorah’s"
## [6059] "longing"
## [6060] "believing"
## [6061] "reviles"
## [6062] "rousing"
## [6063] "limping"
## [6064] "walker"
## [6065] "grooming"
## [6066] "dim"
## [6067] "packhorses"
## [6068] "sluiced"
## [6069] "sand"
## [6070] "realms"
## [6071] "iii"
## [6072] "dragonbane"
## [6073] "magic"
## [6074] "stormsingers"
## [6075] "manticores"
## [6076] "prowled"
## [6077] "basilisks"
## [6078] "jungles"
## [6079] "yi"
## [6080] "ti"
## [6081] "spellsingers"
## [6082] "warlocks"
## [6083] "aeromancers"
## [6084] "openly"
## [6085] "shadowbinders"
## [6086] "bloodmages"
## [6087] "sorceries"
## [6088] "trader"
## [6089] "qarth"
## [6090] "destroyed"
## [6091] "silvery"
## [6092] "strawhead"
## [6093] "scrape"
## [6094] "pores"
## [6095] "sprinkled"
## [6096] "supper"
## [6097] "fry"
## [6098] "jug"
## [6099] "fourteenth"
## [6100] "pelting"
## [6101] "snapping"
## [6102] "smartest"
## [6103] "knuckled"
## [6104] "eighth"
## [6105] "liars"
## [6106] "toothlessly"
## [6107] "spitefully"
## [6108] "mottled"
## [6109] "rickard’s"
## [6110] "grandson"
## [6111] "simpleminded"
## [6112] "click"
## [6113] "tricked"
## [6114] "forlornly"
## [6115] "closeted"
## [6116] "thousands"
## [6117] "brandons"
## [6118] "nursed"
## [6119] "favorites"
## [6120] "scary"
## [6121] "thigh"
## [6122] "querulously"
## [6123] "generation"
## [6124] "swineherds"
## [6125] "hovels"
## [6126] "smothered"
## [6127] "filmy"
## [6128] "felled"
## [6129] "score"
## [6130] "advance"
## [6131] "suckling"
## [6132] "hunted"
## [6133] "hero"
## [6134] "magics"
## [6135] "despaired"
## [6136] "stalking"
## [6137] "bang"
## [6138] "stairway"
## [6139] "hugely"
## [6140] "ducked"
## [6141] "shrivel"
## [6142] "grandmother"
## [6143] "cackled"
## [6144] "hen"
## [6145] "hodor’s"
## [6146] "walder"
## [6147] "hummed"
## [6148] "tunelessly"
## [6149] "gallery"
## [6150] "hurrying"
## [6151] "stableboy’s"
## [6152] "strides"
## [6153] "unsheathed"
## [6154] "lowering"
## [6155] "bottoms"
## [6156] "snarled"
## [6157] "dangling"
## [6158] "weighing"
## [6159] "climber"
## [6160] "rejoice"
## [6161] "respond"
## [6162] "yearling"
## [6163] "unlearned"
## [6164] "saddler"
## [6165] "provide"
## [6166] "saddles"
## [6167] "cripples"
## [6168] "streaming"
## [6169] "greyioy"
## [6170] "recoiled"
## [6171] "lunged"
## [6172] "reeled"
## [6173] "unsteady"
## [6174] "tearing"
## [6175] "scrap"
## [6176] "sigh"
## [6177] "undid"
## [6178] "mopped"
## [6179] "breeches"
## [6180] "unaccountably"
## [6181] "mistook"
## [6182] "dinner"
## [6183] "indigestible"
## [6184] "hasty"
## [6185] "composed"
## [6186] "comely"
## [6187] "sheets"
## [6188] "speech"
## [6189] "forcing"
## [6190] "scrabbling"
## [6191] "purchase"
## [6192] "coals"
## [6193] "candle"
## [6194] "pigeon"
## [6195] "turnips"
## [6196] "soaking"
## [6197] "honeycombs"
## [6198] "scraps"
## [6199] "marrow"
## [6200] "bane"
## [6201] "ominously"
## [6202] "m’lords"
## [6203] "unimpressed"
## [6204] "hounded"
## [6205] "who’s"
## [6206] "adventure"
## [6207] "twined"
## [6208] "refreshments"
## [6209] "dates"
## [6210] "persimmons"
## [6211] "agrees"
## [6212] "digestion"
## [6213] "iced"
## [6214] "sweetened"
## [6215] "refreshing"
## [6216] "clinging"
## [6217] "riverside"
## [6218] "unruly"
## [6219] "airless"
## [6220] "warrens"
## [6221] "jostle"
## [6222] "seating"
## [6223] "tinkled"
## [6224] "drinks"
## [6225] "knotted"
## [6226] "envy"
## [6227] "chinked"
## [6228] "maekar’s"
## [6229] "hotter"
## [6230] "autumn"
## [6231] "sweltered"
## [6232] "pomegranates"
## [6233] "nightshade"
## [6234] "moonbloom"
## [6235] "exhaust"
## [6236] "pycelle’s"
## [6237] "lidded"
## [6238] "meanderings"
## [6239] "wanderings"
## [6240] "tray"
## [6241] "rheumy"
## [6242] "sipped"
## [6243] "pleasantly"
## [6244] "oversweet"
## [6245] "burdens"
## [6246] "faithfully"
## [6247] "illness"
## [6248] "gesture"
## [6249] "hale"
## [6250] "troubling"
## [6251] "colemon"
## [6252] "upset"
## [6253] "grant"
## [6254] "deliberate"
## [6255] "glacier"
## [6256] "yield"
## [6257] "abilities"
## [6258] "frailty"
## [6259] "purging"
## [6260] "potions"
## [6261] "juice"
## [6262] "suffer"
## [6263] "blessing"
## [6264] "slurred"
## [6265] "gag"
## [6266] "rests"
## [6267] "jaehaerys"
## [6268] "jaehaerys’s"
## [6269] "widow"
## [6270] "derange"
## [6271] "strongest"
## [6272] "stillbirth"
## [6273] "flicked"
## [6274] "poisoner"
## [6275] "hedge"
## [6276] "poisons"
## [6277] "displayed"
## [6278] "cravens"
## [6279] "glob"
## [6280] "phelm"
## [6281] "crawl"
## [6282] "perform"
## [6283] "tome"
## [6284] "malleon"
## [6285] "lineages"
## [6286] "straightaway"
## [6287] "courteous"
## [6288] "afterthought"
## [6289] "retinue"
## [6290] "champion’s"
## [6291] "proverb"
## [6292] "fishwives"
## [6293] "luwin’s"
## [6294] "merciful"
## [6295] "windmilling"
## [6296] "scuffed"
## [6297] "toe"
## [6298] "flailed"
## [6299] "exasperated"
## [6300] "swaying"
## [6301] "dangerously"
## [6302] "acre"
## [6303] "elm"
## [6304] "alder"
## [6305] "cottonwood"
## [6306] "smokeberry"
## [6307] "vines"
## [6308] "thanksgiving"
## [6309] "curling"
## [6310] "vigil"
## [6311] "build"
## [6312] "screwed"
## [6313] "stripped"
## [6314] "drying"
## [6315] "selmy’s"
## [6316] "nimble"
## [6317] "meetings"
## [6318] "livelier"
## [6319] "daresay"
## [6320] "simply"
## [6321] "inquiries"
## [6322] "aback"
## [6323] "someones"
## [6324] "regard"
## [6325] "closest"
## [6326] "pregnant"
## [6327] "renly’s"
## [6328] "stablehand"
## [6329] "potboy"
## [6330] "discharged"
## [6331] "theft"
## [6332] "comings"
## [6333] "goings"
## [6334] "hugh"
## [6335] "knighted"
## [6336] "casual"
## [6337] "squatting"
## [6338] "honing"
## [6339] "oilstone"
## [6340] "doings"
## [6341] "enjoys"
## [6342] "unknown"
## [6343] "informer"
## [6344] "completely"
## [6345] "delightful"
## [6346] "dearly"
## [6347] "wiser"
## [6348] "paragon"
## [6349] "distrust"
## [6350] "distrusting"
## [6351] "wisest"
## [6352] "sidestroke"
## [6353] "recruit"
## [6354] "pivot"
## [6355] "beheld"
## [6356] "fattest"
## [6357] "chins"
## [6358] "mummers"
## [6359] "troupe"
## [6360] "bragged"
## [6361] "huntsman"
## [6362] "pigs"
## [6363] "ham"
## [6364] "revealed"
## [6365] "blazoned"
## [6366] "reequip"
## [6367] "hauberk"
## [6368] "refit"
## [6369] "panels"
## [6370] "detach"
## [6371] "overcooked"
## [6372] "sausage"
## [6373] "inept"
## [6374] "piggy"
## [6375] "quarry"
## [6376] "apprenticed"
## [6377] "uglier"
## [6378] "whore’s"
## [6379] "minute"
## [6380] "pudgy"
## [6381] "shrilled"
## [6382] "rast"
## [6383] "cling"
## [6384] "tentative"
## [6385] "smack"
## [6386] "foe’s"
## [6387] "taunted"
## [6388] "screeched"
## [6389] "pyp’s"
## [6390] "foe"
## [6391] "exercise"
## [6392] "pimple"
## [6393] "albett"
## [6394] "foes"
## [6395] "braced"
## [6396] "assault"
## [6397] "sport"
## [6398] "deceptively"
## [6399] "attacking"
## [6400] "defense"
## [6401] "frustrate"
## [6402] "clang"
## [6403] "blocked"
## [6404] "rewarded"
## [6405] "counterstroke"
## [6406] "unbalanced"
## [6407] "crash"
## [6408] "pounds"
## [6409] "raper’s"
## [6410] "reeling"
## [6411] "surveyed"
## [6412] "disgust"
## [6413] "session"
## [6414] "quarryman’s"
## [6415] "grit"
## [6416] "unfastened"
## [6417] "gorget"
## [6418] "asunder"
## [6419] "samwell"
## [6420] "tarly"
## [6421] "randyll"
## [6422] "tyrells"
## [6423] "sam"
## [6424] "bat"
## [6425] "coward"
## [6426] "thunderstruck"
## [6427] "proclaim"
## [6428] "mournfully"
## [6429] "craven"
## [6430] "scowling"
## [6431] "battered"
## [6432] "mornings"
## [6433] "afternoons"
## [6434] "skills"
## [6435] "cherished"
## [6436] "smith"
## [6437] "sharpened"
## [6438] "pumping"
## [6439] "bellows"
## [6440] "mucked"
## [6441] "fletched"
## [6442] "arrows"
## [6443] "assisted"
## [6444] "counts"
## [6445] "inventories"
## [6446] "barrels"
## [6447] "scatter"
## [6448] "footpaths"
## [6449] "boring"
## [6450] "bracing"
## [6451] "admit"
## [6452] "cowardice"
## [6453] "graveling"
## [6454] "paths"
## [6455] "settling"
## [6456] "swineherd"
## [6457] "alehouse"
## [6458] "virgin"
## [6459] "falsetto"
## [6460] "reduced"
## [6461] "eerily"
## [6462] "accurate"
## [6463] "caricatures"
## [6464] "antics"
## [6465] "pork"
## [6466] "widened"
## [6467] "feeble"
## [6468] "squeaking"
## [6469] "suspicious"
## [6470] "weeds"
## [6471] "warmer"
## [6472] "month"
## [6473] "stuff"
## [6474] "crusts"
## [6475] "beards"
## [6476] "glimmering"
## [6477] "palely"
## [6478] "sniffled"
## [6479] "cave"
## [6480] "snowfall"
## [6481] "lick"
## [6482] "tarly’s"
## [6483] "newborn"
## [6484] "saddened"
## [6485] "quorin"
## [6486] "halfhand"
## [6487] "blazes"
## [6488] "highlands"
## [6489] "scares"
## [6490] "descend"
## [6491] "comforting"
## [6492] "sam’s"
## [6493] "tarlys"
## [6494] "mace"
## [6495] "storied"
## [6496] "heartsbane"
## [6497] "samwell’s"
## [6498] "snitched"
## [6499] "blueberry"
## [6500] "tarts"
## [6501] "passions"
## [6502] "kittens"
## [6503] "masters"
## [6504] "caned"
## [6505] "starved"
## [6506] "martial"
## [6507] "paraded"
## [6508] "valor"
## [6509] "randyll’s"
## [6510] "scourged"
## [6511] "devoting"
## [6512] "robust"
## [6513] "fifteenth"
## [6514] "awakened"
## [6515] "disown"
## [6516] "dickon’s"
## [6517] "announce"
## [6518] "forsake"
## [6519] "inheritance"
## [6520] "stumble"
## [6521] "cherish"
## [6522] "tale"
## [6523] "cider"
## [6524] "sings"
## [6525] "apprentice"
## [6526] "rowan"
## [6527] "goldengrove"
## [6528] "swears"
## [6529] "rape"
## [6530] "winesink"
## [6531] "fart"
## [6532] "plodded"
## [6533] "oinking"
## [6534] "pleasant"
## [6535] "persuaded"
## [6536] "cajoled"
## [6537] "threats"
## [6538] "sends"
## [6539] "slice"
## [6540] "rast’s"
## [6541] "rapid"
## [6542] "embers"
## [6543] "shaved"
## [6544] "swat"
## [6545] "strokes"
## [6546] "tap"
## [6547] "unhurt"
## [6548] "urging"
## [6549] "nerve"
## [6550] "teasing"
## [6551] "outs"
## [6552] "wincing"
## [6553] "craftsmen"
## [6554] "merchants"
## [6555] "drowning"
## [6556] "riot"
## [6557] "fights"
## [6558] "robberies"
## [6559] "sympathetic"
## [6560] "janos"
## [6561] "slynt"
## [6562] "frog"
## [6563] "pate"
## [6564] "purse"
## [6565] "irksome"
## [6566] "sundry"
## [6567] "salting"
## [6568] "honestly"
## [6569] "prospers"
## [6570] "lowly"
## [6571] "respite"
## [6572] "woes"
## [6573] "bowlegged"
## [6574] "jingling"
## [6575] "proposed"
## [6576] "outlaw"
## [6577] "shitting"
## [6578] "marching"
## [6579] "battlefield"
## [6580] "determination"
## [6581] "intends"
## [6582] "provoking"
## [6583] "summon"
## [6584] "chafing"
## [6585] "yearned"
## [6586] "arrive"
## [6587] "descliptions"
## [6588] "pages"
## [6589] "compiled"
## [6590] "lists"
## [6591] "weddings"
## [6592] "births"
## [6593] "section"
## [6594] "lann"
## [6595] "trickster"
## [6596] "legendary"
## [6597] "taletellers"
## [6598] "winkled"
## [6599] "casterlys"
## [6600] "brighten"
## [6601] "curly"
## [6602] "winkle"
## [6603] "rap"
## [6604] "heralded"
## [6605] "malleon’s"
## [6606] "bid"
## [6607] "undertunic"
## [6608] "watchman"
## [6609] "claims"
## [6610] "carrots"
## [6611] "apples"
## [6612] "brusque"
## [6613] "uninformative"
## [6614] "arrogant"
## [6615] "receive"
## [6616] "cordwainer"
## [6617] "oddments"
## [6618] "gossip"
## [6619] "commission"
## [6620] "jasper"
## [6621] "pearl"
## [6622] "cordial"
## [6623] "tidbit"
## [6624] "lusts"
## [6625] "ribald"
## [6626] "humorless"
## [6627] "unforgiving"
## [6628] "stands"
## [6629] "nagged"
## [6630] "surviving"
## [6631] "banqueting"
## [6632] "forthcoming"
## [6633] "locklet"
## [6634] "miniature"
## [6635] "style"
## [6636] "lovely"
## [6637] "doe’s"
## [6638] "maid"
## [6639] "tyrell’s"
## [6640] "margaery"
## [6641] "bemused"
## [6642] "conceived"
## [6643] "fancied"
## [6644] "armholes"
## [6645] "laced"
## [6646] "garment"
## [6647] "buckled"
## [6648] "badge"
## [6649] "shop"
## [6650] "haring"
## [6651] "slim"
## [6652] "staff"
## [6653] "protection"
## [6654] "ornament"
## [6655] "views"
## [6656] "whorehouses"
## [6657] "varly"
## [6658] "caps"
## [6659] "shirts"
## [6660] "sweltering"
## [6661] "complaint"
## [6662] "frequently"
## [6663] "tomard"
## [6664] "positions"
## [6665] "route"
## [6666] "fretting"
## [6667] "maiden"
## [6668] "commonly"
## [6669] "mummer"
## [6670] "stilts"
## [6671] "throngs"
## [6672] "insect"
## [6673] "bucket"
## [6674] "slops"
## [6675] "onions"
## [6676] "watchmen"
## [6677] "sprang"
## [6678] "carts"
## [6679] "traffic"
## [6680] "beric"
## [6681] "cheered"
## [6682] "blacksmiths"
## [6683] "forges"
## [6684] "haggling"
## [6685] "ironmongers"
## [6686] "razors"
## [6687] "timber"
## [6688] "plaster"
## [6689] "fanciful"
## [6690] "transformed"
## [6691] "griffin"
## [6692] "unicorn"
## [6693] "gesturing"
## [6694] "couch"
## [6695] "tobho"
## [6696] "mott"
## [6697] "sapphire"
## [6698] "pigeon’s"
## [6699] "bother"
## [6700] "correct"
## [6701] "matching"
## [6702] "goblets"
## [6703] "craftsmanship"
## [6704] "compare"
## [6705] "bought"
## [6706] "paint"
## [6707] "crutches"
## [6708] "journeyman"
## [6709] "mayhaps"
## [6710] "anew"
## [6711] "regret"
## [6712] "patronage"
## [6713] "friendliness"
## [6714] "cavernous"
## [6715] "barn"
## [6716] "blast"
## [6717] "sulfur"
## [6718] "journeymen"
## [6719] "armorers"
## [6720] "tongs"
## [6721] "wipe"
## [6722] "brows"
## [6723] "chested"
## [6724] "corded"
## [6725] "unkempt"
## [6726] "ink"
## [6727] "gendry"
## [6728] "bull’s"
## [6729] "unpolished"
## [6730] "expertly"
## [6731] "sale"
## [6732] "lordship"
## [6733] "hurriedly"
## [6734] "profit"
## [6735] "journeyman’s"
## [6736] "craft"
## [6737] "requires"
## [6738] "forgiveness"
## [6739] "treated"
## [6740] "raper"
## [6741] "bullheaded"
## [6742] "fingering"
## [6743] "bothered"
## [6744] "fee"
## [6745] "fretful"
## [6746] "customary"
## [6747] "sum"
## [6748] "describe"
## [6749] "worth"
## [6750] "strand"
## [6751] "southern"
## [6752] "giggling"
## [6753] "crop"
## [6754] "nurture"
## [6755] "pattering"
## [6756] "accompanied"
## [6757] "crossroads"
## [6758] "prime"
## [6759] "innkeep"
## [6760] "masha"
## [6761] "heddle"
## [6762] "sourleaf"
## [6763] "supply"
## [6764] "masha’s"
## [6765] "splashing"
## [6766] "clink"
## [6767] "fording"
## [6768] "foremost"
## [6769] "sodden"
## [6770] "eagle"
## [6771] "seagard"
## [6772] "jason"
## [6773] "patrek"
## [6774] "travelers"
## [6775] "flies"
## [6776] "harps"
## [6777] "laden"
## [6778] "hops"
## [6779] "casks"
## [6780] "traders"
## [6781] "boldly"
## [6782] "jesting"
## [6783] "salted"
## [6784] "chiseled"
## [6785] "envied"
## [6786] "waste"
## [6787] "spattered"
## [6788] "occur"
## [6789] "confluence"
## [6790] "greyer"
## [6791] "cursory"
## [6792] "nary"
## [6793] "ghastly"
## [6794] "garrets"
## [6795] "cramped"
## [6796] "staircase"
## [6797] "tracking"
## [6798] "deafening"
## [6799] "pane"
## [6800] "milky"
## [6801] "bubbles"
## [6802] "pause"
## [6803] "brace"
## [6804] "chanced"
## [6805] "bedridden"
## [6806] "loath"
## [6807] "tax"
## [6808] "eastern"
## [6809] "foothills"
## [6810] "chasms"
## [6811] "impregnable"
## [6812] "shadowcats"
## [6813] "slides"
## [6814] "clans"
## [6815] "lawless"
## [6816] "brigands"
## [6817] "rob"
## [6818] "elderly"
## [6819] "declare"
## [6820] "obscured"
## [6821] "marketplace"
## [6822] "cottages"
## [6823] "surrounding"
## [6824] "fertile"
## [6825] "woodlands"
## [6826] "thriving"
## [6827] "blackwoods"
## [6828] "brackens"
## [6829] "obliged"
## [6830] "whent"
## [6831] "dwelt"
## [6832] "vaults"
## [6833] "harrenhal"
## [6834] "irascible"
## [6835] "frey"
## [6836] "outlived"
## [6837] "grandbastards"
## [6838] "staunchest"
## [6839] "darrys"
## [6840] "rygers"
## [6841] "mootons"
## [6842] "levies"
## [6843] "victors"
## [6844] "aftermath"
## [6845] "ceased"
## [6846] "tug"
## [6847] "exasperation"
## [6848] "sets"
## [6849] "kegs"
## [6850] "fireplace"
## [6851] "skewers"
## [6852] "mingling"
## [6853] "freely"
## [6854] "dyers"
## [6855] "rivermen"
## [6856] "reeking"
## [6857] "ironsmith"
## [6858] "wizened"
## [6859] "swapped"
## [6860] "boon"
## [6861] "capes"
## [6862] "woodharp"
## [6863] "goodfolk"
## [6864] "pausing"
## [6865] "answering"
## [6866] "safest"
## [6867] "purses"
## [6868] "betting"
## [6869] "gambler"
## [6870] "sternly"
## [6871] "frame"
## [6872] "rebuke"
## [6873] "scurrying"
## [6874] "trenchers"
## [6875] "browned"
## [6876] "mushrooms"
## [6877] "marillion"
## [6878] "plucking"
## [6879] "ventured"
## [6880] "girlhood"
## [6881] "plaintive"
## [6882] "chord"
## [6883] "alia"
## [6884] "groused"
## [6885] "opinion"
## [6886] "homage"
## [6887] "airily"
## [6888] "blizzards"
## [6889] "bearskins"
## [6890] "distantly"
## [6891] "servant’s"
## [6892] "stabling"
## [6893] "tightening"
## [6894] "plainly"
## [6895] "fleas"
## [6896] "wink"
## [6897] "unmistakable"
## [6898] "freerider"
## [6899] "aye"
## [6900] "briefly"
## [6901] "chagrin"
## [6902] "stoutly"
## [6903] "loosened"
## [6904] "blank"
## [6905] "puzzlement"
## [6906] "trio"
## [6907] "jonos"
## [6908] "bracken"
## [6909] "fares"
## [6910] "sers"
## [6911] "ninetieth"
## [6912] "conspired"
## [6913] "seize"
## [6914] "await"
## [6915] "satisfying"
## [6916] "chargers"
## [6917] "caparisoned"
## [6918] "beautifully"
## [6919] "scaled"
## [6920] "freshfallen"
## [6921] "gregor"
## [6922] "thundered"
## [6923] "avalanche"
## [6924] "guested"
## [6925] "engraved"
## [6926] "runes"
## [6927] "thoros"
## [6928] "flaming"
## [6929] "unsung"
## [6930] "resound"
## [6931] "swann"
## [6932] "bryce"
## [6933] "caron"
## [6934] "marches"
## [6935] "yohn’s"
## [6936] "andar"
## [6937] "robar"
## [6938] "filigreed"
## [6939] "warded"
## [6940] "horas"
## [6941] "hobber"
## [6942] "shields"
## [6943] "grape"
## [6944] "cluster"
## [6945] "redwynes"
## [6946] "burgundy"
## [6947] "jason’s"
## [6948] "freys"
## [6949] "jared"
## [6950] "hosteen"
## [6951] "danwell"
## [6952] "emmon"
## [6953] "theo"
## [6954] "perwyn"
## [6955] "grandsons"
## [6956] "martyn"
## [6957] "jalabhar"
## [6958] "xho"
## [6959] "dondarrion"
## [6960] "pronounced"
## [6961] "device"
## [6962] "rag"
## [6963] "acquitted"
## [6964] "unhorsing"
## [6965] "lothor"
## [6966] "brune"
## [6967] "brune’s"
## [6968] "steadier"
## [6969] "fared"
## [6970] "tilt"
## [6971] "warhorses"
## [6972] "unison"
## [6973] "lances"
## [6974] "exploding"
## [6975] "splinters"
## [6976] "commons"
## [6977] "composure"
## [6978] "brilliantly"
## [6979] "overthrew"
## [6980] "marcher"
## [6981] "tilts"
## [6982] "junior"
## [6983] "unstoppable"
## [6984] "ferocious"
## [6985] "gregor’s"
## [6986] "instantly"
## [6987] "pulses"
## [6988] "weaker"
## [6989] "streak"
## [6990] "outstretched"
## [6991] "cloud"
## [6992] "summer’s"
## [6993] "crescent"
## [6994] "seeped"
## [6995] "regain"
## [6996] "sung"
## [6997] "spade"
## [6998] "shoveled"
## [6999] "jousts"
## [7000] "violently"
## [7001] "charger"
## [7002] "audible"
## [7003] "tine"
## [7004] "punch"
## [7005] "checkered"
## [7006] "disgraced"
## [7007] "dondarrion’s"
## [7008] "thrice"
## [7009] "intricately"
## [7010] "bouquet"
## [7011] "fence"
## [7012] "robar’s"
## [7013] "ancestral"
## [7014] "awful"
## [7015] "circuit"
## [7016] "flower"
## [7017] "timidly"
## [7018] "dumb"
## [7019] "mass"
## [7020] "liquid"
## [7021] "inhaled"
## [7022] "fragrance"
## [7023] "effortless"
## [7024] "lock"
## [7025] "matches"
## [7026] "roasting"
## [7027] "spits"
## [7028] "basted"
## [7029] "crackled"
## [7030] "strawberries"
## [7031] "tighten"
## [7032] "coronet"
## [7033] "sapphires"
## [7034] "hateful"
## [7035] "keen"
## [7036] "demurred"
## [7037] "giddy"
## [7038] "glamour"
## [7039] "pavilion"
## [7040] "juggler"
## [7041] "simpleton"
## [7042] "cruelty"
## [7043] "showering"
## [7044] "compliments"
## [7045] "sharing"
## [7046] "explaining"
## [7047] "captivated"
## [7048] "courses"
## [7049] "venison"
## [7050] "salads"
## [7051] "spinach"
## [7052] "plums"
## [7053] "nuts"
## [7054] "snails"
## [7055] "snail"
## [7056] "morsel"
## [7057] "casing"
## [7058] "expose"
## [7059] "flaky"
## [7060] "portion"
## [7061] "joint"
## [7062] "uttered"
## [7063] "sweetbreads"
## [7064] "frosted"
## [7065] "sugar"
## [7066] "attempt"
## [7067] "cutlery"
## [7068] "goblet"
## [7069] "bloodless"
## [7070] "sculpted"
## [7071] "stormed"
## [7072] "ladylike"
## [7073] "snores"
## [7074] "form"
## [7075] "sewn"
## [7076] "torches"
## [7077] "befalls"
## [7078] "unresisting"
## [7079] "mordane’s"
## [7080] "snored"
## [7081] "shift"
## [7082] "gallantly"
## [7083] "ser’s"
## [7084] "withstand"
## [7085] "recite"
## [7086] "unkind"
## [7087] "squatted"
## [7088] "hooked"
## [7089] "hole"
## [7090] "craters"
## [7091] "fissured"
## [7092] "seared"
## [7093] "snuffed"
## [7094] "dragonsbreath"
## [7095] "woodcarver"
## [7096] "pegged"
## [7097] "strings"
## [7098] "ox"
## [7099] "septons"
## [7100] "preach"
## [7101] "ointments"
## [7102] "knightly"
## [7103] "arise"
## [7104] "shrouded"
## [7105] "driver"
## [7106] "torchlit"
## [7107] "twitching"
## [7108] "sounding"
## [7109] "rougher"
## [7110] "usual"
## [7111] "cart"
## [7112] "smoothed"
## [7113] "happenstance"
## [7114] "needless"
## [7115] "sizzled"
## [7116] "firepits"
## [7117] "spicing"
## [7118] "yawning"
## [7119] "goose"
## [7120] "honked"
## [7121] "occupant"
## [7122] "caron’s"
## [7123] "nightingales"
## [7124] "grapes"
## [7125] "brindled"
## [7126] "ram"
## [7127] "triple"
## [7128] "spiral"
## [7129] "blackadder"
## [7130] "horned"
## [7131] "blazons"
## [7132] "meryn’s"
## [7133] "sullied"
## [7134] "barristan’s"
## [7135] "oft"
## [7136] "disowned"
## [7137] "reconsider"
## [7138] "bravado"
## [7139] "wreathed"
## [7140] "grandest"
## [7141] "displeasure"
## [7142] "lancel"
## [7143] "oafs"
## [7144] "stretcher"
## [7145] "tripped"
## [7146] "quit"
## [7147] "graver"
## [7148] "sandy"
## [7149] "mustache"
## [7150] "santagar’s"
## [7151] "wit"
## [7152] "cousins"
## [7153] "bounds"
## [7154] "mirth"
## [7155] "sulking"
## [7156] "juices"
## [7157] "prove"
## [7158] "hungers"
## [7159] "squealing"
## [7160] "seemly"
## [7161] "dodged"
## [7162] "kinging"
## [7163] "bind"
## [7164] "cunt"
## [7165] "upended"
## [7166] "belched"
## [7167] "stake"
## [7168] "warring"
## [7169] "whoring"
## [7170] "sellsword"
## [7171] "stops"
## [7172] "dumped"
## [7173] "rump"
## [7174] "cersei’s"
## [7175] "fried"
## [7176] "river’s"
## [7177] "waxing"
## [7178] "oranges"
## [7179] "dacks"
## [7180] "redfort’s"
## [7181] "pock"
## [7182] "uproariously"
## [7183] "rouse"
## [7184] "engrossed"
## [7185] "olive"
## [7186] "concession"
## [7187] "feeds"
## [7188] "couched"
## [7189] "deftly"
## [7190] "harmlessly"
## [7191] "blazon"
## [7192] "cheer"
## [7193] "exploded"
## [7194] "riderless"
## [7195] "trotting"
## [7196] "plucks"
## [7197] "stifle"
## [7198] "chuckles"
## [7199] "dwarfed"
## [7200] "solitary"
## [7201] "tourneys"
## [7202] "distinguished"
## [7203] "ferocity"
## [7204] "disquiet"
## [7205] "stock"
## [7206] "ominous"
## [7207] "disfigured"
## [7208] "accident"
## [7209] "inherited"
## [7210] "estates"
## [7211] "murmur"
## [7212] "fervent"
## [7213] "nots"
## [7214] "speed"
## [7215] "trumpeted"
## [7216] "splinter"
## [7217] "controlling"
## [7218] "pawing"
## [7219] "saluted"
## [7220] "mountain’s"
## [7221] "plunging"
## [7222] "flow"
## [7223] "juggled"
## [7224] "placing"
## [7225] "applause"
## [7226] "cheers"
## [7227] "whistles"
## [7228] "gasps"
## [7229] "winked"
## [7230] "boiling"
## [7231] "severed"
## [7232] "animal’s"
## [7233] "shrieks"
## [7234] "yelling"
## [7235] "pivoted"
## [7236] "aim"
## [7237] "unprotected"
## [7238] "shoving"
## [7239] "tempered"
## [7240] "stallions"
## [7241] "spirit"
## [7242] "amuse"
## [7243] "tricks"
## [7244] "golds"
## [7245] "anguy"
## [7246] "unheralded"
## [7247] "commoner"
## [7248] "outshooting"
## [7249] "paces"
## [7250] "eliminated"
## [7251] "distances"
## [7252] "riches"
## [7253] "undreamed"
## [7254] "reputation"
## [7255] "troops"
## [7256] "alliances"
## [7257] "fractured"
## [7258] "madman"
## [7259] "melees"
## [7260] "tally"
## [7261] "collarbone"
## [7262] "sprains"
## [7263] "behaving"
## [7264] "reported"
## [7265] "proudly"
## [7266] "displaying"
## [7267] "complex"
## [7268] "interwoven"
## [7269] "ballads"
## [7270] "inspected"
## [7271] "excellent"
## [7272] "flamboyant"
## [7273] "braavosi"
## [7274] "suited"
## [7275] "spins"
## [7276] "flips"
## [7277] "persist"
## [7278] "cats"
## [7279] "lessons"
## [7280] "rudiments"
## [7281] "blindfolds"
## [7282] "cartwheels"
## [7283] "hopping"
## [7284] "jut"
## [7285] "candlelight"
## [7286] "revels"
## [7287] "dwindle"
## [7288] "slay"
## [7289] "linked"
## [7290] "armorer’s"
## [7291] "stamped"
## [7292] "acknowledged"
## [7293] "castellan"
## [7294] "doted"
## [7295] "daily"
## [7296] "visits"
## [7297] "willed"
## [7298] "rights"
## [7299] "threaten"
## [7300] "musings"
## [7301] "visitor"
## [7302] "caked"
## [7303] "coarsest"
## [7304] "cowl"
## [7305] "voluminous"
## [7306] "cowled"
## [7307] "astonishment"
## [7308] "richest"
## [7309] "cayn"
## [7310] "apologetically"
## [7311] "cloying"
## [7312] "doomed"
## [7313] "speechless"
## [7314] "forbade"
## [7315] "waving"
## [7316] "firesword"
## [7317] "refilled"
## [7318] "deed"
## [7319] "slayer"
## [7320] "compassionate"
## [7321] "unfortunate"
## [7322] "bless"
## [7323] "plot"
## [7324] "confess"
## [7325] "peril"
## [7326] "confession"
## [7327] "public"
## [7328] "shames"
## [7329] "puissant"
## [7330] "manly"
## [7331] "sneaks"
## [7332] "snick"
## [7333] "twinkling"
## [7334] "mourn"
## [7335] "salvation"
## [7336] "simplicity"
## [7337] "creatures"
## [7338] "forestall"
## [7339] "treat"
## [7340] "taster"
## [7341] "prospered"
## [7342] "gladdens"
## [7343] "untimely"
## [7344] "poisoned"
## [7345] "chiggen"
## [7346] "chalked"
## [7347] "bronn"
## [7348] "stubble"
## [7349] "beef"
## [7350] "deformed"
## [7351] "feral"
## [7352] "khalasars"
## [7353] "customs"
## [7354] "bites"
## [7355] "mouthfuls"
## [7356] "rejoin"
## [7357] "captors"
## [7358] "jyck’s"
## [7359] "hacked"
## [7360] "hostess"
## [7361] "queasy"
## [7362] "smoky"
## [7363] "hissed"
## [7364] "slattern"
## [7365] "quaver"
## [7366] "plea"
## [7367] "unsavory"
## [7368] "groom"
## [7369] "soldier"
## [7370] "relieve"
## [7371] "daggers"
## [7372] "ebbed"
## [7373] "palpably"
## [7374] "shorn"
## [7375] "tinged"
## [7376] "spittle"
## [7377] "innkeep’s"
## [7378] "somewheres"
## [7379] "lordlin’s"
## [7380] "situation"
## [7381] "affirmation"
## [7382] "succor"
## [7383] "success"
## [7384] "attest"
## [7385] "winging"
## [7386] "provisions"
## [7387] "captives"
## [7388] "imagined"
## [7389] "bundling"
## [7390] "tying"
## [7391] "odds"
## [7392] "curry"
## [7393] "congratulating"
## [7394] "subtlety"
## [7395] "blindness"
## [7396] "tighter"
## [7397] "intention"
## [7398] "seeping"
## [7399] "snowcapped"
## [7400] "faintest"
## [7401] "prided"
## [7402] "outwitted"
## [7403] "galling"
## [7404] "abduction"
## [7405] "spared"
## [7406] "fastnesses"
## [7407] "murderers"
## [7408] "renewing"
## [7409] "acquaintance"
## [7410] "clustered"
## [7411] "grazing"
## [7412] "clumps"
## [7413] "clefts"
## [7414] "mohor"
## [7415] "oiling"
## [7416] "complaining"
## [7417] "willis"
## [7418] "wode"
## [7419] "whent’s"
## [7420] "necked"
## [7421] "stolid"
## [7422] "aid"
## [7423] "overtaken"
## [7424] "windburnt"
## [7425] "kurleket"
## [7426] "oaf"
## [7427] "cropped"
## [7428] "pig’s"
## [7429] "treatment"
## [7430] "debts"
## [7431] "lharys"
## [7432] "tenor"
## [7433] "manfully"
## [7434] "rhyme"
## [7435] "gimp"
## [7436] "outrage"
## [7437] "assuming"
## [7438] "bestir"
## [7439] "fig"
## [7440] "tolerated"
## [7441] "slights"
## [7442] "staunch"
## [7443] "footpad"
## [7444] "flicker"
## [7445] "maidenhead"
## [7446] "vicious"
## [7447] "tragedy"
## [7448] "boasts"
## [7449] "creased"
## [7450] "prisoners"
## [7451] "enmities"
## [7452] "fervor"
## [7453] "hoofbeats"
## [7454] "nearer"
## [7455] "pebbles"
## [7456] "rained"
## [7457] "springing"
## [7458] "tufts"
## [7459] "sticking"
## [7460] "conical"
## [7461] "crouched"
## [7462] "boulder"
## [7463] "crookedly"
## [7464] "quiver"
## [7465] "haft"
## [7466] "nasty"
## [7467] "splitting"
## [7468] "plume"
## [7469] "heralds"
## [7470] "twang"
## [7471] "bowstrings"
## [7472] "clansmen"
## [7473] "thundering"
## [7474] "barred"
## [7475] "halfhelms"
## [7476] "longswords"
## [7477] "scythes"
## [7478] "mauls"
## [7479] "striped"
## [7480] "shadowskin"
## [7481] "brandish"
## [7482] "boom"
## [7483] "insanity"
## [7484] "chiggen’s"
## [7485] "raked"
## [7486] "whirlwind"
## [7487] "bareback"
## [7488] "fray"
## [7489] "sprout"
## [7490] "maul"
## [7491] "charging"
## [7492] "meaty"
## [7493] "thunk"
## [7494] "angling"
## [7495] "brigand’s"
## [7496] "pinned"
## [7497] "singer’s"
## [7498] "advised"
## [7499] "clattered"
## [7500] "fringes"
## [7501] "darting"
## [7502] "hew"
## [7503] "clansman"
## [7504] "halfhelm"
## [7505] "snugly"
## [7506] "kurleket’s"
## [7507] "trapped"
## [7508] "penned"
## [7509] "axehead"
## [7510] "inanely"
## [7511] "horseman"
## [7512] "engagement"
## [7513] "vanquished"
## [7514] "finer"
## [7515] "glint"
## [7516] "saddlebag"
## [7517] "blooded"
## [7518] "looting"
## [7519] "undersized"
## [7520] "rib"
## [7521] "dueled"
## [7522] "notched"
## [7523] "bracken’s"
## [7524] "scanning"
## [7525] "ridgetops"
## [7526] "cairns"
## [7527] "pile"
## [7528] "survivors"
## [7529] "wearily"
## [7530] "grazed"
## [7531] "gelding"
## [7532] "definite"
## [7533] "utter"
## [7534] "acquired"
## [7535] "stripes"
## [7536] "growls"
## [7537] "visibly"
## [7538] "rhymes"
## [7539] "rudely"
## [7540] "flaw"
## [7541] "fable"
## [7542] "eared"
## [7543] "arched"
## [7544] "balanced"
## [7545] "flutter"
## [7546] "breaths"
## [7547] "tomcat"
## [7548] "healed"
## [7549] "scratches"
## [7550] "scabbed"
## [7551] "tumbles"
## [7552] "elude"
## [7553] "dabbed"
## [7554] "dozing"
## [7555] "mousers"
## [7556] "tails"
## [7557] "claws"
## [7558] "prowling"
## [7559] "heaps"
## [7560] "devil"
## [7561] "quail"
## [7562] "serpentine"
## [7563] "traitor’s"
## [7564] "dart"
## [7565] "jerkin"
## [7566] "yowled"
## [7567] "doll"
## [7568] "hovered"
## [7569] "scabby"
## [7570] "mortified"
## [7571] "godwyn"
## [7572] "gripped"
## [7573] "mouthed"
## [7574] "screeching"
## [7575] "bowled"
## [7576] "oof"
## [7577] "careening"
## [7578] "scrubwoman"
## [7579] "hunkered"
## [7580] "circular"
## [7581] "unanswered"
## [7582] "fainter"
## [7583] "eighty"
## [7584] "blackness"
## [7585] "hungrily"
## [7586] "wolverine"
## [7587] "fingertips"
## [7588] "fang"
## [7589] "hallway"
## [7590] "blackest"
## [7591] "adjust"
## [7592] "vague"
## [7593] "wiggled"
## [7594] "steadied"
## [7595] "unfinished"
## [7596] "hairs"
## [7597] "circling"
## [7598] "writhed"
## [7599] "learns"
## [7600] "accents"
## [7601] "writhing"
## [7602] "delay"
## [7603] "wizard"
## [7604] "torchbearer"
## [7605] "glide"
## [7606] "soundlessly"
## [7607] "shortsword"
## [7608] "grossly"
## [7609] "torchlight"
## [7610] "tiger"
## [7611] "blinded"
## [7612] "blaze"
## [7613] "resounding"
## [7614] "players"
## [7615] "tractable"
## [7616] "intend"
## [7617] "abducted"
## [7618] "meddling"
## [7619] "sorcerer"
## [7620] "smoking"
## [7621] "star"
## [7622] "disappear"
## [7623] "supported"
## [7624] "sewer"
## [7625] "emptied"
## [7626] "dove"
## [7627] "scrubbing"
## [7628] "clout"
## [7629] "ratcatcher"
## [7630] "hips"
## [7631] "glowing"
## [7632] "crabbed"
## [7633] "script"
## [7634] "covers"
## [7635] "harwin’s"
## [7636] "juggling"
## [7637] "hat"
## [7638] "speckled"
## [7639] "wizards"
## [7640] "mummery"
## [7641] "troupes"
## [7642] "spying"
## [7643] "stray"
## [7644] "sweetling"
## [7645] "hirn"
## [7646] "unwashed"
## [7647] "greeted"
## [7648] "excitedly"
## [7649] "saving"
## [7650] "scum"
## [7651] "rid"
## [7652] "trash"
## [7653] "bad’s"
## [7654] "milady"
## [7655] "minded"
## [7656] "northerner"
## [7657] "murdering"
## [7658] "thunderclap"
## [7659] "exists"
## [7660] "wringing"
## [7661] "ties"
## [7662] "traitor"
## [7663] "deceive"
## [7664] "miscarries"
## [7665] "infancy"
## [7666] "conquering"
## [7667] "weaned"
## [7668] "mislaid"
## [7669] "unctuous"
## [7670] "qualms"
## [7671] "howevermuch"
## [7672] "pains"
## [7673] "grievously"
## [7674] "roose"
## [7675] "bolton"
## [7676] "tend"
## [7677] "pushing"
## [7678] "scorn"
## [7679] "unborn"
## [7680] "purpled"
## [7681] "minutes"
## [7682] "counseled"
## [7683] "loyally"
## [7684] "perish"
## [7685] "luxuriant"
## [7686] "infinitely"
## [7687] "kinder"
## [7688] "tens"
## [7689] "caprice"
## [7690] "prettier"
## [7691] "craves"
## [7692] "nears"
## [7693] "squinted"
## [7694] "coward’s"
## [7695] "quibble"
## [7696] "fix"
## [7697] "comprehension"
## [7698] "narrowed"
## [7699] "clasp"
## [7700] "nobler"
## [7701] "croaked"
## [7702] "discussion"
## [7703] "society"
## [7704] "blount"
## [7705] "stationed"
## [7706] "oppressive"
## [7707] "unclean"
## [7708] "quarreled"
## [7709] "recalling"
## [7710] "hates"
## [7711] "inform"
## [7712] "undone"
## [7713] "unchecked"
## [7714] "loans"
## [7715] "eluded"
## [7716] "convince"
## [7717] "spoor"
## [7718] "sailor"
## [7719] "ordinarily"
## [7720] "preferred"
## [7721] "requesting"
## [7722] "web"
## [7723] "sailing"
## [7724] "docks"
## [7725] "skilled"
## [7726] "cabins"
## [7727] "tempted"
## [7728] "fox"
## [7729] "detain"
## [7730] "tanda"
## [7731] "lamprey"
## [7732] "eels"
## [7733] "disdain"
## [7734] "desire"
## [7735] "wroth"
## [7736] "ingratitude"
## [7737] "blithely"
## [7738] "disgusted"
## [7739] "titles"
## [7740] "assassins"
## [7741] "expensive"
## [7742] "visions"
## [7743] "botch"
## [7744] "we’d"
## [7745] "enormous"
## [7746] "ineffectually"
## [7747] "donnel"
## [7748] "waynwood"
## [7749] "harried"
## [7750] "approaching"
## [7751] "whetting"
## [7752] "mordant"
## [7753] "stocky"
## [7754] "homely"
## [7755] "frank"
## [7756] "captive"
## [7757] "survive"
## [7758] "fate"
## [7759] "shrank"
## [7760] "defile"
## [7761] "slopes"
## [7762] "weathered"
## [7763] "slits"
## [7764] "obsidian"
## [7765] "gruffly"
## [7766] "improved"
## [7767] "bushy"
## [7768] "eyebrows"
## [7769] "caterpillars"
## [7770] "waynwoods"
## [7771] "defender"
## [7772] "stoneworks"
## [7773] "vista"
## [7774] "misty"
## [7775] "tranquil"
## [7776] "mirrors"
## [7777] "protected"
## [7778] "sheltering"
## [7779] "sweeter"
## [7780] "valley"
## [7781] "bottomlands"
## [7782] "peak"
## [7783] "torrent"
## [7784] "alyssa’s"
## [7785] "hits"
## [7786] "newgrown"
## [7787] "recover"
## [7788] "beginnings"
## [7789] "haggard"
## [7790] "fevered"
## [7791] "braver"
## [7792] "unburied"
## [7793] "scruff"
## [7794] "misliked"
## [7795] "continue"
## [7796] "fussing"
## [7797] "surefooted"
## [7798] "coats"
## [7799] "brynden’s"
## [7800] "lysa’s"
## [7801] "assassin’s"
## [7802] "shadowing"
## [7803] "hoster’s"
## [7804] "goat"
## [7805] "flock"
## [7806] "personal"
## [7807] "emblem"
## [7808] "infrequent"
## [7809] "blackfish"
## [7810] "triumphs"
## [7811] "sympathizing"
## [7812] "childish"
## [7813] "misfortunes"
## [7814] "negotiated"
## [7815] "keenly"
## [7816] "casts"
## [7817] "overhang"
## [7818] "uncle’s"
## [7819] "prone"
## [7820] "dolls"
## [7821] "nestor"
## [7822] "suitors"
## [7823] "rejected"
## [7824] "suitable"
## [7825] "courtship"
## [7826] "wisely"
## [7827] "helpful"
## [7828] "dutiful"
## [7829] "politics"
## [7830] "stillborn"
## [7831] "miscarriages"
## [7832] "stealing"
## [7833] "thief"
## [7834] "crevasse"
## [7835] "yawned"
## [7836] "trails"
## [7837] "prisoner"
## [7838] "flatten"
## [7839] "wildflowers"
## [7840] "cantering"
## [7841] "greenwoods"
## [7842] "hamlets"
## [7843] "orchards"
## [7844] "sunlit"
## [7845] "standard"
## [7846] "bearer"
## [7847] "farm"
## [7848] "flickered"
## [7849] "drawbridge"
## [7850] "hail"
## [7851] "nestor’s"
## [7852] "starless"
## [7853] "spark"
## [7854] "falcons"
## [7855] "overfond"
## [7856] "experience"
## [7857] "goats"
## [7858] "mules"
## [7859] "waycastles"
## [7860] "basket"
## [7861] "clings"
## [7862] "cellars"
## [7863] "winches"
## [7864] "supplies"
## [7865] "pumpkin"
## [7866] "chagrined"
## [7867] "lust"
## [7868] "undoubtedly"
## [7869] "lamb"
## [7870] "bleat"
## [7871] "brands"
## [7872] "keeper"
## [7873] "cousin"
## [7874] "formidable"
## [7875] "tiring"
## [7876] "wiry"
## [7877] "mychel"
## [7878] "cocky"
## [7879] "mya"
## [7880] "mya’s"
## [7881] "crisped"
## [7882] "capon"
## [7883] "hunger"
## [7884] "banter"
## [7885] "pine"
## [7886] "spruce"
## [7887] "ascending"
## [7888] "mule"
## [7889] "perfectly"
## [7890] "mychel’s"
## [7891] "redfort"
## [7892] "lyn"
## [7893] "corbray"
## [7894] "redforts"
## [7895] "sheet"
## [7896] "tireless"
## [7897] "layer"
## [7898] "carpeted"
## [7899] "shoes"
## [7900] "softest"
## [7901] "soothed"
## [7902] "rocking"
## [7903] "doze"
## [7904] "ironbound"
## [7905] "cheerily"
## [7906] "tops"
## [7907] "overtopped"
## [7908] "portly"
## [7909] "waycastle"
## [7910] "stablehands"
## [7911] "famished"
## [7912] "starlight"
## [7913] "steeper"
## [7914] "littered"
## [7915] "altitude"
## [7916] "sparser"
## [7917] "vigorously"
## [7918] "gusts"
## [7919] "brighter"
## [7920] "fortified"
## [7921] "unmortared"
## [7922] "whitey’s"
## [7923] "olden"
## [7924] "lure"
## [7925] "complacency"
## [7926] "tread"
## [7927] "precipitous"
## [7928] "gulfs"
## [7929] "trickling"
## [7930] "gulf"
## [7931] "skirling"
## [7932] "scuffling"
## [7933] "whitey"
## [7934] "placidly"
## [7935] "topless"
## [7936] "sky’s"
## [7937] "rimed"
## [7938] "hallooed"
## [7939] "series"
## [7940] "ramps"
## [7941] "boulders"
## [7942] "sizes"
## [7943] "easiest"
## [7944] "chimney"
## [7945] "foundations"
## [7946] "honeycomb"
## [7947] "baskets"
## [7948] "vardis"
## [7949] "egen"
## [7950] "unanticipated"
## [7951] "standards"
## [7952] "bunched"
## [7953] "smithys"
## [7954] "granary"
## [7955] "unbound"
## [7956] "puffy"
## [7957] "watery"
## [7958] "breasted"
## [7959] "cascaded"
## [7960] "withdrew"
## [7961] "aunt"
## [7962] "blankly"
## [7963] "bedclothes"
## [7964] "fussed"
## [7965] "peek"
## [7966] "restive"
## [7967] "mistaken"
## [7968] "popping"
## [7969] "brothel’s"
## [7970] "feathered"
## [7971] "heward"
## [7972] "buxom"
## [7973] "forfeits"
## [7974] "unbutton"
## [7975] "tiles"
## [7976] "wyl"
## [7977] "lacings"
## [7978] "trousers"
## [7979] "chataya"
## [7980] "runs"
## [7981] "sounder"
## [7982] "investment"
## [7983] "sink"
## [7984] "boarded"
## [7985] "pirates"
## [7986] "prattle"
## [7987] "quieted"
## [7988] "relentless"
## [7989] "guilts"
## [7990] "drops"
## [7991] "powdering"
## [7992] "freckles"
## [7993] "bosom"
## [7994] "barra"
## [7995] "milord"
## [7996] "baby’s"
## [7997] "undying"
## [7998] "hollowly"
## [7999] "tremulous"
## [8000] "rainy"
## [8001] "rivulets"
## [8002] "florent"
## [8003] "niece"
## [8004] "selyse"
## [8005] "bedmaids"
## [8006] "shipped"
## [8007] "readily"
## [8008] "bellies"
## [8009] "blurt"
## [8010] "rises"
## [8011] "frequented"
## [8012] "drumming"
## [8013] "alarm"
## [8014] "gauntlets"
## [8015] "greaves"
## [8016] "crests"
## [8017] "blocking"
## [8018] "vexed"
## [8019] "contemptuous"
## [8020] "bloodstains"
## [8021] "intervene"
## [8022] "tactic"
## [8023] "poked"
## [8024] "dragonkings"
## [8025] "swordsmen"
## [8026] "tregar"
## [8027] "unchastened"
## [8028] "phantoms"
## [8029] "shod"
## [8030] "hoof"
## [8031] "slashing"
## [8032] "tregar’s"
## [8033] "jolt"
## [8034] "sheared"
## [8035] "bridle"
## [8036] "calf"
## [8037] "rank"
## [8038] "gritting"
## [8039] "candlelit"
## [8040] "emerge"
## [8041] "cassel’s"
## [8042] "consciousness"
## [8043] "gigantic"
## [8044] "roadway"
## [8045] "framing"
## [8046] "godsway"
## [8047] "laughingly"
## [8048] "rhae"
## [8049] "mhar"
## [8050] "sorefoot"
## [8051] "ignorance"
## [8052] "rhaggat"
## [8053] "apologizing"
## [8054] "relent"
## [8055] "monuments"
## [8056] "sacked"
## [8057] "plundered"
## [8058] "deities"
## [8059] "brandished"
## [8060] "thunderbolts"
## [8061] "chipped"
## [8062] "lithe"
## [8063] "plinths"
## [8064] "griffins"
## [8065] "barbed"
## [8066] "poised"
## [8067] "statues"
## [8068] "aggo"
## [8069] "rakharo"
## [8070] "civilized"
## [8071] "monolith"
## [8072] "boredom"
## [8073] "crones"
## [8074] "prophecy"
## [8075] "horsemeat"
## [8076] "sachet"
## [8077] "wools"
## [8078] "rotted"
## [8079] "wares"
## [8080] "obscene"
## [8081] "ferret’s"
## [8082] "inspect"
## [8083] "bided"
## [8084] "demand"
## [8085] "brooms"
## [8086] "conquer"
## [8087] "trod"
## [8088] "shieldwall"
## [8089] "barricade"
## [8090] "stakes"
## [8091] "retreating"
## [8092] "pikes"
## [8093] "rabble"
## [8094] "jerkins"
## [8095] "siegecraft"
## [8096] "weakest"
## [8097] "pipers"
## [8098] "precious"
## [8099] "bazaar"
## [8100] "strangeness"
## [8101] "vastness"
## [8102] "limits"
## [8103] "paved"
## [8104] "shops"
## [8105] "languorously"
## [8106] "baking"
## [8107] "rickety"
## [8108] "pyramids"
## [8109] "log"
## [8110] "thorny"
## [8111] "hedges"
## [8112] "dig"
## [8113] "peoples"
## [8114] "dwell"
## [8115] "permanently"
## [8116] "sacred"
## [8117] "khals"
## [8118] "prophesied"
## [8119] "caravans"
## [8120] "trade"
## [8121] "recalled"
## [8122] "rains"
## [8123] "fenced"
## [8124] "bulged"
## [8125] "unbelted"
## [8126] "exempt"
## [8127] "shed"
## [8128] "feuds"
## [8129] "khalakka"
## [8130] "bloodrider"
## [8131] "traditions"
## [8132] "joyfully"
## [8133] "doreah’s"
## [8134] "accept"
## [8135] "thankful"
## [8136] "pregnancy"
## [8137] "inflamed"
## [8138] "embraces"
## [8139] "exhausted"
## [8140] "invite"
## [8141] "haunch"
## [8142] "firepods"
## [8143] "basting"
## [8144] "cooked"
## [8145] "shaming"
## [8146] "arranging"
## [8147] "sandsilk"
## [8148] "dragging"
## [8149] "carpet"
## [8150] "quailed"
## [8151] "calmed"
## [8152] "misspoke"
## [8153] "pleases"
## [8154] "raiment"
## [8155] "cooler"
## [8156] "stinks"
## [8157] "manure"
## [8158] "specially"
## [8159] "quailing"
## [8160] "medallions"
## [8161] "legged"
## [8162] "mats"
## [8163] "flakes"
## [8164] "winched"
## [8165] "chestnut"
## [8166] "joseth"
## [8167] "oversize"
## [8168] "longbow"
## [8169] "broadheads"
## [8170] "coifs"
## [8171] "stableman"
## [8172] "donkey"
## [8173] "injured"
## [8174] "neat"
## [8175] "tendrils"
## [8176] "woodsmoke"
## [8177] "chimneys"
## [8178] "villagers"
## [8179] "townfolk"
## [8180] "lordly"
## [8181] "comfortingly"
## [8182] "straps"
## [8183] "rhythm"
## [8184] "anxiety"
## [8185] "wenches"
## [8186] "local"
## [8187] "kyra"
## [8188] "squirms"
## [8189] "weasel"
## [8190] "blushes"
## [8191] "bessa"
## [8192] "admire"
## [8193] "billowed"
## [8194] "messenger"
## [8195] "proving"
## [8196] "punched"
## [8197] "numbly"
## [8198] "fearful"
## [8199] "snowflakes"
## [8200] "confined"
## [8201] "tang"
## [8202] "earthy"
## [8203] "hints"
## [8204] "musk"
## [8205] "cooking"
## [8206] "study"
## [8207] "empress"
## [8208] "deepest"
## [8209] "midthigh"
## [8210] "waded"
## [8211] "current"
## [8212] "foamed"
## [8213] "wail"
## [8214] "conscious"
## [8215] "strap"
## [8216] "foresters"
## [8217] "buttons"
## [8218] "stubbly"
## [8219] "fiat"
## [8220] "wheel"
## [8221] "stiv"
## [8222] "stubbled"
## [8223] "cock"
## [8224] "hali"
## [8225] "osha"
## [8226] "stain"
## [8227] "painless"
## [8228] "undercut"
## [8229] "strain"
## [8230] "accumulation"
## [8231] "differences"
## [8232] "farlen"
## [8233] "proportion"
## [8234] "snout"
## [8235] "markedly"
## [8236] "leaner"
## [8237] "wind’s"
## [8238] "muzzle"
## [8239] "contemptuously"
## [8240] "flailing"
## [8241] "midstream"
## [8242] "serpent"
## [8243] "parried"
## [8244] "overextended"
## [8245] "flank"
## [8246] "carnage"
## [8247] "hamstringing"
## [8248] "savaging"
## [8249] "glistening"
## [8250] "loped"
## [8251] "lever"
## [8252] "trickle"
## [8253] "deliberately"
## [8254] "thrum"
## [8255] "broadhead"
## [8256] "hali’s"
## [8257] "shots"
## [8258] "thanking"
## [8259] "jump"
## [8260] "theon’s"
## [8261] "quent"
## [8262] "fuzz"
## [8263] "turkey"
## [8264] "fitfully"
## [8265] "deserters"
## [8266] "desperation"
## [8267] "carrion"
## [8268] "wallen"
## [8269] "wayn"
## [8270] "mord"
## [8271] "beans"
## [8272] "stub"
## [8273] "brute"
## [8274] "cringe"
## [8275] "overly"
## [8276] "turnkey"
## [8277] "gross"
## [8278] "stupidity"
## [8279] "predictable"
## [8280] "shambled"
## [8281] "arm’s"
## [8282] "mord’s"
## [8283] "splotch"
## [8284] "pudding"
## [8285] "pang"
## [8286] "fucking"
## [8287] "flux"
## [8288] "toed"
## [8289] "keys"
## [8290] "laughably"
## [8291] "dungeon"
## [8292] "brigand"
## [8293] "mold"
## [8294] "talons"
## [8295] "sunshine"
## [8296] "dankest"
## [8297] "gloomiest"
## [8298] "girding"
## [8299] "lain"
## [8300] "craned"
## [8301] "bee"
## [8302] "sloped"
## [8303] "tenant"
## [8304] "olds"
## [8305] "cushions"
## [8306] "slew"
## [8307] "austere"
## [8308] "forbidding"
## [8309] "veined"
## [8310] "submission"
## [8311] "humiliation"
## [8312] "slaying"
## [8313] "dealing"
## [8314] "sane"
## [8315] "directed"
## [8316] "twitch"
## [8317] "contested"
## [8318] "inconvenient"
## [8319] "release"
## [8320] "spasm"
## [8321] "upright"
## [8322] "feebly"
## [8323] "consoled"
## [8324] "imprisonment"
## [8325] "humble"
## [8326] "rot"
## [8327] "kicks"
## [8328] "gaoler"
## [8329] "illusions"
## [8330] "judgment"
## [8331] "object"
## [8332] "impugning"
## [8333] "trial"
## [8334] "opportunity"
## [8335] "headstrong"
## [8336] "subtly"
## [8337] "contrast"
## [8338] "unbelievably"
## [8339] "peculiar"
## [8340] "catspaw"
## [8341] "overpowering"
## [8342] "smuggle"
## [8343] "subtle"
## [8344] "backhand"
## [8345] "miming"
## [8346] "ahhhh"
## [8347] "forehand"
## [8348] "wimpering"
## [8349] "wheezed"
## [8350] "scalded"
## [8351] "lifetime"
## [8352] "hawked"
## [8353] "phlegm"
## [8354] "stoop"
## [8355] "halfhearted"
## [8356] "desultory"
## [8357] "prisoned"
## [8358] "creases"
## [8359] "anyn"
## [8360] "inspiration"
## [8361] "greed"
## [8362] "warred"
## [8363] "writing"
## [8364] "illiterates"
## [8365] "superstitious"
## [8366] "reverence"
## [8367] "fortunately"
## [8368] "wears"
## [8369] "relented"
## [8370] "whatsoever"
## [8371] "safekeeping"
## [8372] "grumble"
## [8373] "glare"
## [8374] "prisoner’s"
## [8375] "aglow"
## [8376] "sconces"
## [8377] "garb"
## [8378] "elaborate"
## [8379] "tully’s"
## [8380] "craggy"
## [8381] "albar"
## [8382] "principal"
## [8383] "represented"
## [8384] "gouty"
## [8385] "widowed"
## [8386] "sported"
## [8387] "sigils"
## [8388] "winged"
## [8389] "chalice"
## [8390] "lounged"
## [8391] "freerider’s"
## [8392] "sins"
## [8393] "gambled"
## [8394] "cheated"
## [8395] "malicious"
## [8396] "outright"
## [8397] "confessing"
## [8398] "accused"
## [8399] "conspiring"
## [8400] "falsehood"
## [8401] "twitched"
## [8402] "uncaring"
## [8403] "fluttered"
## [8404] "pennons"
## [8405] "guttered"
## [8406] "judge"
## [8407] "snot"
## [8408] "nosed"
## [8409] "wretch"
## [8410] "innocence"
## [8411] "verdict"
## [8412] "gay"
## [8413] "whistle"
## [8414] "surest"
## [8415] "modestly"
## [8416] "clamoring"
## [8417] "disheartening"
## [8418] "singularly"
## [8419] "shameful"
## [8420] "hobbling"
## [8421] "peeved"
## [8422] "blunder"
## [8423] "wull"
## [8424] "ethan"
## [8425] "ryswell"
## [8426] "dustin"
## [8427] "leech"
## [8428] "wraiths"
## [8429] "oswell"
## [8430] "sharpening"
## [8431] "woe"
## [8432] "dipped"
## [8433] "lya"
## [8434] "streamed"
## [8435] "splinted"
## [8436] "plastered"
## [8437] "throb"
## [8438] "poole’s"
## [8439] "thirsty"
## [8440] "parched"
## [8441] "kitten"
## [8442] "busied"
## [8443] "prays"
## [8444] "perished"
## [8445] "omened"
## [8446] "bode"
## [8447] "mantle"
## [8448] "squares"
## [8449] "arbor"
## [8450] "vintage"
## [8451] "swimming"
## [8452] "blameless"
## [8453] "enforce"
## [8454] "subsided"
## [8455] "abductions"
## [8456] "butchered"
## [8457] "chasten"
## [8458] "admits"
## [8459] "whorehouse"
## [8460] "betraying"
## [8461] "sorely"
## [8462] "bonds"
## [8463] "dishonors"
## [8464] "trant"
## [8465] "somber"
## [8466] "kingly"
## [8467] "temples"
## [8468] "kingswood"
## [8469] "bedposts"
## [8470] "lining"
## [8471] "balustrade"
## [8472] "alyssa"
## [8473] "watered"
## [8474] "massing"
## [8475] "vance"
## [8476] "piper"
## [8477] "watering"
## [8478] "bristly"
## [8479] "thornbush"
## [8480] "recovering"
## [8481] "pipes"
## [8482] "gulltown"
## [8483] "policies"
## [8484] "varied"
## [8485] "hourly"
## [8486] "dreamy"
## [8487] "inconstant"
## [8488] "privately"
## [8489] "eyrie’s"
## [8490] "apartments"
## [8491] "storming"
## [8492] "festival"
## [8493] "seasoned"
## [8494] "giggles"
## [8495] "planted"
## [8496] "ringed"
## [8497] "hauled"
## [8498] "statuary"
## [8499] "flowering"
## [8500] "shrubs"
## [8501] "champions"
## [8502] "freshly"
## [8503] "garbed"
## [8504] "moonstones"
## [8505] "terrace"
## [8506] "elevate"
## [8507] "clapping"
## [8508] "humpbacked"
## [8509] "puppeteer"
## [8510] "pitchers"
## [8511] "blackberries"
## [8512] "sipping"
## [8513] "gaily"
## [8514] "hunter’s"
## [8515] "corbray’s"
## [8516] "unsuitable"
## [8517] "eon"
## [8518] "gout"
## [8519] "quarrelsome"
## [8520] "impoverished"
## [8521] "notoriously"
## [8522] "uninterested"
## [8523] "intimate"
## [8524] "charms"
## [8525] "espied"
## [8526] "sisterly"
## [8527] "prevail"
## [8528] "patting"
## [8529] "liver"
## [8530] "doughty"
## [8531] "survived"
## [8532] "blossom"
## [8533] "morton"
## [8534] "cowards"
## [8535] "fellows"
## [8536] "gain"
## [8537] "behead"
## [8538] "receives"
## [8539] "intoned"
## [8540] "ponderously"
## [8541] "fatherless"
## [8542] "nods"
## [8543] "denies"
## [8544] "vaguely"
## [8545] "uneasy"
## [8546] "flood"
## [8547] "sawdust"
## [8548] "discipline"
## [8549] "bloodshed"
## [8550] "nerves"
## [8551] "tolled"
## [8552] "statue"
## [8553] "drawled"
## [8554] "execution"
## [8555] "opposite"
## [8556] "attended"
## [8557] "encased"
## [8558] "rondels"
## [8559] "juncture"
## [8560] "skirt"
## [8561] "lobstered"
## [8562] "encircled"
## [8563] "falcon’s"
## [8564] "sprouted"
## [8565] "noseguard"
## [8566] "coif"
## [8567] "shinguards"
## [8568] "discs"
## [8569] "faceted"
## [8570] "sphere"
## [8571] "singsong"
## [8572] "witness"
## [8573] "freedom"
## [8574] "echo"
## [8575] "bronn’s"
## [8576] "fidgeting"
## [8577] "elevated"
## [8578] "plaintively"
## [8579] "triangular"
## [8580] "dotted"
## [8581] "studs"
## [8582] "similar"
## [8583] "growth"
## [8584] "glimmer"
## [8585] "honed"
## [8586] "gauntleted"
## [8587] "tracery"
## [8588] "crossguard"
## [8589] "crafted"
## [8590] "futile"
## [8591] "arguments"
## [8592] "salute"
## [8593] "swiveled"
## [8594] "sentiment"
## [8595] "viewed"
## [8596] "deadlier"
## [8597] "misstep"
## [8598] "handscarf"
## [8599] "ankles"
## [8600] "brutal"
## [8601] "shyer"
## [8602] "jarred"
## [8603] "checking"
## [8604] "lithely"
## [8605] "touching"
## [8606] "notch"
## [8607] "vardis’s"
## [8608] "swiftly"
## [8609] "sidestepped"
## [8610] "aiming"
## [8611] "unshielded"
## [8612] "sellsword’s"
## [8613] "plinth"
## [8614] "wrenching"
## [8615] "slower"
## [8616] "gashes"
## [8617] "beaked"
## [8618] "rondel"
## [8619] "navel"
## [8620] "statue’s"
## [8621] "tottered"
## [8622] "torso"
## [8623] "groan"
## [8624] "hoist"
## [8625] "satisfied"
## [8626] "hopeless"
## [8627] "assembled"
## [8628] "shovels"
## [8629] "herding"
## [8630] "swine"
## [8631] "gueren"
## [8632] "loon"
## [8633] "whoop"
## [8634] "reptile"
## [8635] "stinking"
## [8636] "congratulations"
## [8637] "smacked"
## [8638] "punching"
## [8639] "quivered"
## [8640] "haider"
## [8641] "squirted"
## [8642] "sputtered"
## [8643] "matthar"
## [8644] "hobb"
## [8645] "garnished"
## [8646] "sprigs"
## [8647] "mashed"
## [8648] "chickpeas"
## [8649] "greens"
## [8650] "bowls"
## [8651] "blueberries"
## [8652] "ho"
## [8653] "masons"
## [8654] "woodsmen"
## [8655] "quarried"
## [8656] "sledges"
## [8657] "bear’s"
## [8658] "toying"
## [8659] "hobb’s"
## [8660] "bittersweet"
## [8661] "cuger"
## [8662] "restlessness"
## [8663] "skittish"
## [8664] "moonlit"
## [8665] "destination"
## [8666] "creek"
## [8667] "penalty"
## [8668] "adulteress"
## [8669] "dishonorable"
## [8670] "aemon’s"
## [8671] "stewards"
## [8672] "joked"
## [8673] "clydas"
## [8674] "chinless"
## [8675] "mole"
## [8676] "chett"
## [8677] "wen"
## [8678] "boils"
## [8679] "pimples"
## [8680] "jammed"
## [8681] "disturb"
## [8682] "wedged"
## [8683] "solidly"
## [8684] "merrily"
## [8685] "comfortably"
## [8686] "mystery"
## [8687] "diversion"
## [8688] "listens"
## [8689] "chett’s"
## [8690] "accounts"
## [8691] "warcraft"
## [8692] "meanings"
## [8693] "scowl"
## [8694] "cows"
## [8695] "gentler"
## [8696] "plow"
## [8697] "churning"
## [8698] "blister"
## [8699] "prompted"
## [8700] "sums"
## [8701] "copse"
## [8702] "aspens"
## [8703] "deadwood"
## [8704] "spitting"
## [8705] "sparse"
## [8706] "riverlands"
## [8707] "outlive"
## [8708] "gap"
## [8709] "egen’s"
## [8710] "crags"
## [8711] "stale"
## [8712] "armful"
## [8713] "involve"
## [8714] "whittled"
## [8715] "strips"
## [8716] "pouch"
## [8717] "lacked"
## [8718] "fruitlessly"
## [8719] "sparks"
## [8720] "smolder"
## [8721] "undeniably"
## [8722] "mourner"
## [8723] "sword’s"
## [8724] "toady"
## [8725] "unsheathing"
## [8726] "hip"
## [8727] "hissing"
## [8728] "kid"
## [8729] "flatly"
## [8730] "sawed"
## [8731] "tougher"
## [8732] "precipice"
## [8733] "bean"
## [8734] "gaoler’s"
## [8735] "drawstring"
## [8736] "abusing"
## [8737] "carve"
## [8738] "hollowed"
## [8739] "halfmoon"
## [8740] "fleeing"
## [8741] "nails"
## [8742] "where’s"
## [8743] "fending"
## [8744] "dogging"
## [8745] "crofter’s"
## [8746] "orphaned"
## [8747] "lather"
## [8748] "outlaws"
## [8749] "hungrier"
## [8750] "chickens"
## [8751] "cottage"
## [8752] "sobered"
## [8753] "desolate"
## [8754] "bade"
## [8755] "silvers"
## [8756] "rasp"
## [8757] "unfriendly"
## [8758] "gunthor"
## [8759] "gurn"
## [8760] "shagga"
## [8761] "dolf"
## [8762] "club"
## [8763] "lumbered"
## [8764] "conn"
## [8765] "torrek"
## [8766] "jaggot"
## [8767] "pitchforks"
## [8768] "clan"
## [8769] "shagga’s"
## [8770] "halfman"
## [8771] "halfinan"
## [8772] "lowland"
## [8773] "worthless"
## [8774] "halfman’s"
## [8775] "hardened"
## [8776] "boyman"
## [8777] "chop"
## [8778] "fills"
## [8779] "mouths"
## [8780] "keep’s"
## [8781] "browns"
## [8782] "blues"
## [8783] "ironwork"
## [8784] "monstrosity"
## [8785] "hellishly"
## [8786] "fanged"
## [8787] "attendance"
## [8788] "hart"
## [8789] "petitioners"
## [8790] "strained"
## [8791] "tinderbox"
## [8792] "sole"
## [8793] "stanch"
## [8794] "karyl"
## [8795] "winestain"
## [8796] "birthmark"
## [8797] "sherrer"
## [8798] "wendish"
## [8799] "twos"
## [8800] "arys"
## [8801] "oakheart"
## [8802] "joss"
## [8803] "brewer’s"
## [8804] "apron"
## [8805] "fired"
## [8806] "burnt"
## [8807] "farmer"
## [8808] "prentice"
## [8809] "smith’s"
## [8810] "pierced"
## [8811] "holdfast’s"
## [8812] "riper"
## [8813] "fanning"
## [8814] "traps"
## [8815] "heated"
## [8816] "furnace"
## [8817] "barbs"
## [8818] "ribbons"
## [8819] "marq"
## [8820] "swaggering"
## [8821] "bantam"
## [8822] "rooster"
## [8823] "butchering"
## [8824] "one’s"
## [8825] "willum’s"
## [8826] "raided"
## [8827] "raiding"
## [8828] "hunnerds"
## [8829] "goodwoman"
## [8830] "decorations"
## [8831] "devices"
## [8832] "brewer"
## [8833] "grieves"
## [8834] "hares"
## [8835] "nibble"
## [8836] "today’s"
## [8837] "petitions"
## [8838] "disputes"
## [8839] "adjudicating"
## [8840] "placement"
## [8841] "boundary"
## [8842] "quill"
## [8843] "attending"
## [8844] "outrages"
## [8845] "vermin"
## [8846] "raider"
## [8847] "precisely"
## [8848] "goad"
## [8849] "shrewd"
## [8850] "pillage"
## [8851] "guise"
## [8852] "forsaken"
## [8853] "holy"
## [8854] "plunder"
## [8855] "defer"
## [8856] "vengeance"
## [8857] "restore"
## [8858] "outraged"
## [8859] "addressed"
## [8860] "mislike"
## [8861] "stripling"
## [8862] "haughtily"
## [8863] "gladden"
## [8864] "lothar"
## [8865] "assemble"
## [8866] "westlands"
## [8867] "denounce"
## [8868] "attaint"
## [8869] "perplexed"
## [8870] "papers"
## [8871] "outgrow"
## [8872] "construe"
## [8873] "paynes"
## [8874] "outgrows"
## [8875] "nibbling"
## [8876] "bewildered"
## [8877] "tumbling"
## [8878] "decisions"
## [8879] "questioning"
## [8880] "complimented"
## [8881] "cheekbone"
## [8882] "ilyn’s"
## [8883] "jcyne"
## [8884] "slithering"
## [8885] "steward’s"
## [8886] "mooned"
## [8887] "prophetic"
## [8888] "harts"
## [8889] "worthier"
## [8890] "blaming"
## [8891] "crookbacked"
## [8892] "strawberry"
## [8893] "sleepily"
## [8894] "beric’s"
## [8895] "whinnying"
## [8896] "slanting"
## [8897] "handsomer"
## [8898] "porridge"
## [8899] "spoon"
## [8900] "oozed"
## [8901] "squish"
## [8902] "plopped"
## [8903] "napkin"
## [8904] "ivory"
## [8905] "lurching"
## [8906] "blotchy"
## [8907] "balled"
## [8908] "bled"
## [8909] "underskirt"
## [8910] "squirming"
## [8911] "damask"
## [8912] "remorse"
## [8913] "ratty"
## [8914] "spoiled"
## [8915] "ruined"
## [8916] "pigsties"
## [8917] "dresses"
## [8918] "pagaentry"
## [8919] "masked"
## [8920] "squabbling"
## [8921] "disgusting"
## [8922] "naerys"
## [8923] "jonquil"
## [8924] "florian"
## [8925] "forgetting"
## [8926] "complement"
## [8927] "stoppered"
## [8928] "flask"
## [8929] "onerous"
## [8930] "healer"
## [8931] "wanly"
## [8932] "attempts"
## [8933] "jangling"
## [8934] "instructed"
## [8935] "rattled"
## [8936] "confident"
## [8937] "unknowing"
## [8938] "betrayals"
## [8939] "fester"
## [8940] "expects"
## [8941] "lunch"
## [8942] "fatted"
## [8943] "rupture"
## [8944] "painful"
## [8945] "itch"
## [8946] "flocking"
## [8947] "preferences"
## [8948] "royces"
## [8949] "roach"
## [8950] "loathed"
## [8951] "loathe"
## [8952] "lops"
## [8953] "summit"
## [8954] "calves"
## [8955] "idly"
## [8956] "flip"
## [8957] "descriptions"
## [8958] "potion"
## [8959] "irked"
## [8960] "volume"
## [8961] "quip"
## [8962] "protestations"
## [8963] "rigid"
## [8964] "perilously"
## [8965] "pardoned"
## [8966] "retain"
## [8967] "ginger"
## [8968] "affable"
## [8969] "capable"
## [8970] "limited"
## [8971] "energetic"
## [8972] "hobble"
## [8973] "enters"
## [8974] "lengthen"
## [8975] "crisply"
## [8976] "crickets"
## [8977] "reddened"
## [8978] "swelling"
## [8979] "pose"
## [8980] "riddles"
## [8981] "shied"
## [8982] "bloodlines"
## [8983] "flitted"
## [8984] "credit"
## [8985] "deathbed"
## [8986] "recorded"
## [8987] "mating"
## [8988] "tya"
## [8989] "gowen"
## [8990] "reigning"
## [8991] "issue"
## [8992] "unnamed"
## [8993] "lusty"
## [8994] "yielding"
## [8995] "stagger"
## [8996] "lioness"
## [8997] "grieving"
## [8998] "mistakes"
## [8999] "stallion’s"
## [9000] "chalk"
## [9001] "beaded"
## [9002] "stringy"
## [9003] "favorable"
## [9004] "afflicted"
## [9005] "clotted"
## [9006] "accustom"
## [9007] "mouthful"
## [9008] "confines"
## [9009] "roiled"
## [9010] "smeared"
## [9011] "heartsblood"
## [9012] "dothrae"
## [9013] "mr’anha"
## [9014] "phrase"
## [9015] "shriveled"
## [9016] "rakh"
## [9017] "haj"
## [9018] "throated"
## [9019] "chant"
## [9020] "withered"
## [9021] "dugs"
## [9022] "bundles"
## [9023] "chanting"
## [9024] "peer"
## [9025] "crackle"
## [9026] "wavery"
## [9027] "chorused"
## [9028] "rend"
## [9029] "onlookers"
## [9030] "rhaego"
## [9031] "protectively"
## [9032] "staffs"
## [9033] "husbands"
## [9034] "nation"
## [9035] "mightiest"
## [9036] "ogo"
## [9037] "fogo"
## [9038] "jommo"
## [9039] "stately"
## [9040] "cadence"
## [9041] "alongside"
## [9042] "barbarous"
## [9043] "dan"
## [9044] "ares"
## [9045] "fringe"
## [9046] "reeds"
## [9047] "depths"
## [9048] "squishing"
## [9049] "shattering"
## [9050] "forming"
## [9051] "cleansing"
## [9052] "horsehide"
## [9053] "unlace"
## [9054] "hoarsely"
## [9055] "lakeshore"
## [9056] "tenting"
## [9057] "roofed"
## [9058] "aisle"
## [9059] "hailing"
## [9060] "clothed"
## [9061] "jommo’s"
## [9062] "conspicuous"
## [9063] "beggar’s"
## [9064] "roamed"
## [9065] "manhoods"
## [9066] "frayed"
## [9067] "rugs"
## [9068] "esteemed"
## [9069] "prowess"
## [9070] "patted"
## [9071] "cushion"
## [9072] "platter"
## [9073] "figs"
## [9074] "bazaars"
## [9075] "congenial"
## [9076] "confirmed"
## [9077] "caravan"
## [9078] "strangle"
## [9079] "diamonds"
## [9080] "opals"
## [9081] "rarer"
## [9082] "clots"
## [9083] "unite"
## [9084] "tugging"
## [9085] "roofless"
## [9086] "tide"
## [9087] "stammering"
## [9088] "peering"
## [9089] "touches"
## [9090] "unblooded"
## [9091] "witted"
## [9092] "thunderous"
## [9093] "grappled"
## [9094] "bodily"
## [9095] "unsteadily"
## [9096] "daenerys’s"
## [9097] "bargained"
## [9098] "foal"
## [9099] "translate"
## [9100] "flinching"
## [9101] "chiming"
## [9102] "saddest"
## [9103] "mittens"
## [9104] "globs"
## [9105] "garland"
## [9106] "taper"
## [9107] "ripening"
## [9108] "rounds"
## [9109] "maegor’s"
## [9110] "ghostly"
## [9111] "preston"
## [9112] "greenfield"
## [9113] "dreadfully"
## [9114] "hearths"
## [9115] "suffocating"
## [9116] "canopied"
## [9117] "shuttered"
## [9118] "tousled"
## [9119] "discarded"
## [9120] "bedpost"
## [9121] "husked"
## [9122] "groin"
## [9123] "tusks"
## [9124] "applied"
## [9125] "eh"
## [9126] "fierceness"
## [9127] "stricken"
## [9128] "fogged"
## [9129] "punish"
## [9130] "coughed"
## [9131] "regent"
## [9132] "scrawled"
## [9133] "deceit"
## [9134] "scribbling"
## [9135] "signature"
## [9136] "smear"
## [9137] "witnessed"
## [9138] "relax"
## [9139] "draught"
## [9140] "jangled"
## [9141] "lessen"
## [9142] "grace’s"
## [9143] "suffering"
## [9144] "disturbs"
## [9145] "truest"
## [9146] "refreshment"
## [9147] "elder"
## [9148] "stalwart"
## [9149] "kevan"
## [9150] "unmade"
## [9151] "flown"
## [9152] "soled"
## [9153] "span"
## [9154] "regency"
## [9155] "sleeps"
## [9156] "confirm"
## [9157] "succession"
## [9158] "shedding"
## [9159] "bowstring"
## [9160] "threatening"
## [9161] "elected"
## [9162] "repute"
## [9163] "qos"
## [9164] "reluctant"
## [9165] "disinherited"
## [9166] "defeat"
## [9167] "inkpot"
## [9168] "whilst"
## [9169] "writhe"
## [9170] "imperative"
## [9171] "signed"
## [9172] "blotted"
## [9173] "sealing"
## [9174] "wan"
## [9175] "hawking"
## [9176] "dreamless"
## [9177] "mockingbirds"
## [9178] "incestuous"
## [9179] "union"
## [9180] "shocking"
## [9181] "succeeds"
## [9182] "shred"
## [9183] "negligently"
## [9184] "handing"
## [9185] "measured"
## [9186] "forgiving"
## [9187] "dispose"
## [9188] "troublesome"
## [9189] "reveal"
## [9190] "quirked"
## [9191] "dispute"
## [9192] "overwhelm"
## [9193] "proclaims"
## [9194] "wobbling"
## [9195] "weigh"
## [9196] "applecakes"
## [9197] "assist"
## [9198] "fairly"
## [9199] "weed"
## [9200] "strewn"
## [9201] "sunny"
## [9202] "sparkle"
## [9203] "altar"
## [9204] "celladar"
## [9205] "sober"
## [9206] "resplendent"
## [9207] "bearclaw"
## [9208] "othell"
## [9209] "yarwyck"
## [9210] "grudges"
## [9211] "wrongs"
## [9212] "desertion"
## [9213] "trampled"
## [9214] "mayhap"
## [9215] "palms"
## [9216] "mopping"
## [9217] "firsts"
## [9218] "preserve"
## [9219] "broadly"
## [9220] "matt"
## [9221] "jawed"
## [9222] "darcon"
## [9223] "palate"
## [9224] "pickled"
## [9225] "frightful"
## [9226] "borcas"
## [9227] "fasten"
## [9228] "churn"
## [9229] "doublets"
## [9230] "smallclothes"
## [9231] "pour"
## [9232] "dickon"
## [9233] "audiences"
## [9234] "unlocked"
## [9235] "reemerged"
## [9236] "apprehensively"
## [9237] "whickered"
## [9238] "unheard"
## [9239] "bloodred"
## [9240] "gathers"
## [9241] "crowns"
## [9242] "watcher"
## [9243] "sleepers"
## [9244] "forester"
## [9245] "dywen"
## [9246] "dark’s"
## [9247] "disquieted"
## [9248] "intake"
## [9249] "awoke"
## [9250] "dummy’s"
## [9251] "canvas"
## [9252] "benefit"
## [9253] "disconsolate"
## [9254] "wolfed"
## [9255] "righteous"
## [9256] "secure"
## [9257] "affairs"
## [9258] "gratefully"
## [9259] "immaculate"
## [9260] "accomplished"
## [9261] "lavender"
## [9262] "soundless"
## [9263] "weeps"
## [9264] "sorrowful"
## [9265] "support"
## [9266] "record"
## [9267] "established"
## [9268] "demands"
## [9269] "oaken"
## [9270] "arrayed"
## [9271] "foam"
## [9272] "throne’s"
## [9273] "scenes"
## [9274] "outnumbered"
## [9275] "coronation"
## [9276] "produced"
## [9277] "halves"
## [9278] "quarters"
## [9279] "condemn"
## [9280] "moves"
## [9281] "custody"
## [9282] "donning"
## [9283] "tomard’s"
## [9284] "tom’s"
## [9285] "piercing"
## [9286] "varly’s"
## [9287] "spearman"
## [9288] "cayn’s"
## [9289] "breastbone"
## [9290] "apologetic"
## [9291] "retreated"
## [9292] "ow"
## [9293] "tip"
## [9294] "eyelid"
## [9295] "wonderful"
## [9296] "captains"
## [9297] "sealord’s"
## [9298] "necks"
## [9299] "cubs"
## [9300] "lizards"
## [9301] "newly"
## [9302] "indolence"
## [9303] "plays"
## [9304] "rustcolored"
## [9305] "tapping"
## [9306] "syrio’s"
## [9307] "blindingly"
## [9308] "dancer’s"
## [9309] "stance"
## [9310] "codpieces"
## [9311] "noseguards"
## [9312] "kneecap"
## [9313] "helmetless"
## [9314] "jabbed"
## [9315] "blackening"
## [9316] "temple"
## [9317] "gauntlet"
## [9318] "advanced"
## [9319] "deflected"
## [9320] "splintering"
## [9321] "shearing"
## [9322] "buttery"
## [9323] "weaving"
## [9324] "potboys"
## [9325] "baker’s"
## [9326] "helper"
## [9327] "loaves"
## [9328] "cleaver"
## [9329] "turret"
## [9330] "stacked"
## [9331] "cask"
## [9332] "daylight"
## [9333] "corpse’s"
## [9334] "longingly"
## [9335] "incident"
## [9336] "edging"
## [9337] "frothy"
## [9338] "bubbled"
## [9339] "crates"
## [9340] "loading"
## [9341] "snuck"
## [9342] "whickering"
## [9343] "harness"
## [9344] "chest’s"
## [9345] "satins"
## [9346] "bracelet"
## [9347] "jumbled"
## [9348] "hardness"
## [9349] "peeking"
## [9350] "pitchfork"
## [9351] "who’ll"
## [9352] "rewarding"
## [9353] "needle’s"
## [9354] "hysterical"
## [9355] "gushed"
## [9356] "pooling"
## [9357] "accusing"
## [9358] "puff"
## [9359] "concealing"
## [9360] "unlatching"
## [9361] "peeked"
## [9362] "shivery"
## [9363] "creep"
## [9364] "scariest"
## [9365] "bugs"
## [9366] "desert"
## [9367] "hue"
## [9368] "figured"
## [9369] "sneaking"
## [9370] "cornered"
## [9371] "chancy"
## [9372] "cupping"
## [9373] "snuffing"
## [9374] "scarier"
## [9375] "saucers"
## [9376] "flour"
## [9377] "buttoned"
## [9378] "jeyne’s"
## [9379] "moans"
## [9380] "pleas"
## [9381] "separated"
## [9382] "crossbows"
## [9383] "whimpers"
## [9384] "sonorous"
## [9385] "clanging"
## [9386] "rumbled"
## [9387] "dirge"
## [9388] "bandy"
## [9389] "baggy"
## [9390] "snowy"
## [9391] "workmen"
## [9392] "mandon"
## [9393] "flowery"
## [9394] "collared"
## [9395] "teardrops"
## [9396] "unsettled"
## [9397] "needlessly"
## [9398] "hasn’t"
## [9399] "bumps"
## [9400] "inviting"
## [9401] "betrayal"
## [9402] "wailed"
## [9403] "obedient"
## [9404] "defying"
## [9405] "voiced"
## [9406] "condemned"
## [9407] "treasons"
## [9408] "hatch"
## [9409] "poignant"
## [9410] "truer"
## [9411] "reminds"
## [9412] "treating"
## [9413] "womanhood"
## [9414] "disappoint"
## [9415] "treasonous"
## [9416] "beeswax"
## [9417] "moore"
## [9418] "shella"
## [9419] "othor"
## [9420] "jafer"
## [9421] "jafer’s"
## [9422] "vinegar"
## [9423] "unnaturally"
## [9424] "beads"
## [9425] "dew"
## [9426] "melon"
## [9427] "bass"
## [9428] "yowling"
## [9429] "leashes"
## [9430] "nuzzle"
## [9431] "retch"
## [9432] "hardest"
## [9433] "patrols"
## [9434] "wont"
## [9435] "tendon"
## [9436] "belike"
## [9437] "evidence"
## [9438] "blanched"
## [9439] "blossoms"
## [9440] "decorated"
## [9441] "squeaked"
## [9442] "pitched"
## [9443] "profusely"
## [9444] "soils"
## [9445] "jelly"
## [9446] "crusty"
## [9447] "worms"
## [9448] "unconvinced"
## [9449] "boast"
## [9450] "sidled"
## [9451] "whiff"
## [9452] "pansy"
## [9453] "growling"
## [9454] "leash"
## [9455] "earnestly"
## [9456] "em"
## [9457] "afore"
## [9458] "hake"
## [9459] "lashing"
## [9460] "ketter"
## [9461] "slings"
## [9462] "humid"
## [9463] "copiously"
## [9464] "shrinking"
## [9465] "vastly"
## [9466] "fright"
## [9467] "stammer"
## [9468] "streaking"
## [9469] "chops"
## [9470] "throaty"
## [9471] "watchman’s"
## [9472] "uuuuuuuooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo"
## [9473] "agitated"
## [9474] "storeroom"
## [9475] "grumbling"
## [9476] "storerooms"
## [9477] "grain"
## [9478] "groomed"
## [9479] "there’d"
## [9480] "apprehension"
## [9481] "destroy"
## [9482] "imprisoned"
## [9483] "plotted"
## [9484] "ability"
## [9485] "redeem"
## [9486] "injustice"
## [9487] "lad’s"
## [9488] "spooned"
## [9489] "rallied"
## [9490] "chimed"
## [9491] "spattering"
## [9492] "dozed"
## [9493] "hind"
## [9494] "crouching"
## [9495] "uncontrollably"
## [9496] "hinges"
## [9497] "bonelessly"
## [9498] "latch"
## [9499] "guard’s"
## [9500] "lurked"
## [9501] "probing"
## [9502] "drapes"
## [9503] "radiance"
## [9504] "smashing"
## [9505] "flooded"
## [9506] "engulfed"
## [9507] "gagged"
## [9508] "wriggling"
## [9509] "lolling"
## [9510] "hesitation"
## [9511] "intruder"
## [9512] "scrabble"
## [9513] "ankle"
## [9514] "clawed"
## [9515] "revulsion"
## [9516] "pried"
## [9517] "pounced"
## [9518] "wight"
## [9519] "gagging"
## [9520] "thing’s"
## [9521] "retching"
## [9522] "wight’s"
## [9523] "gnawed"
## [9524] "fingerless"
## [9525] "thrashed"
## [9526] "puddled"
## [9527] "spewed"
## [9528] "hangings"
## [9529] "whoosh"
## [9530] "karstarks"
## [9531] "windy"
## [9532] "karhold"
## [9533] "harrion"
## [9534] "torrhen"
## [9535] "sunburst"
## [9536] "pelts"
## [9537] "jostling"
## [9538] "rutted"
## [9539] "bolton’s"
## [9540] "cerwyn’s"
## [9541] "glovers"
## [9542] "flayed"
## [9543] "dreadfort"
## [9544] "moose"
## [9545] "hornwoods"
## [9546] "cerwyns"
## [9547] "tallharts"
## [9548] "umber"
## [9549] "retainer"
## [9550] "karstark"
## [9551] "consecrate"
## [9552] "countryside"
## [9553] "camps"
## [9554] "crannogmen"
## [9555] "chisel"
## [9556] "handholds"
## [9557] "wicker"
## [9558] "legholes"
## [9559] "attaching"
## [9560] "tricky"
## [9561] "portcullises"
## [9562] "lancers"
## [9563] "thudding"
## [9564] "frenzy"
## [9565] "humming"
## [9566] "stomped"
## [9567] "underground"
## [9568] "ponds"
## [9569] "treed"
## [9570] "wildcat"
## [9571] "soap"
## [9572] "immerse"
## [9573] "burp"
## [9574] "bubble"
## [9575] "murky"
## [9576] "lapped"
## [9577] "understands"
## [9578] "slavering"
## [9579] "rickon’s"
## [9580] "sixteenth"
## [9581] "test"
## [9582] "robett"
## [9583] "granddaughter"
## [9584] "cerwyn"
## [9585] "jovial"
## [9586] "hornwood"
## [9587] "dam"
## [9588] "greatjon"
## [9589] "forces"
## [9590] "restrain"
## [9591] "astonishingly"
## [9592] "fancy"
## [9593] "greatjon’s"
## [9594] "boltons"
## [9595] "bedroll"
## [9596] "fugitive"
## [9597] "traveler"
## [9598] "baratheons"
## [9599] "taleteller"
## [9600] "claimed"
## [9601] "marshaling"
## [9602] "reclaim"
## [9603] "incredible"
## [9604] "marries"
## [9605] "plead"
## [9606] "weakly"
## [9607] "lichyard"
## [9608] "headstones"
## [9609] "lichen"
## [9610] "entreated"
## [9611] "tree’s"
## [9612] "irons"
## [9613] "flinched"
## [9614] "sniff"
## [9615] "scouring"
## [9616] "manacles"
## [9617] "footfalls"
## [9618] "blundering"
## [9619] "plows"
## [9620] "bloods"
## [9621] "ducking"
## [9622] "smiley"
## [9623] "wights"
## [9624] "respectful"
## [9625] "shoves"
## [9626] "karstark’s"
## [9627] "herblore"
## [9628] "steers"
## [9629] "bleached"
## [9630] "redeyed"
## [9631] "glinting"
## [9632] "osha’s"
## [9633] "cheering"
## [9634] "glistened"
## [9635] "wetly"
## [9636] "droop"
## [9637] "mustachio"
## [9638] "chairs"
## [9639] "propped"
## [9640] "hrakkar"
## [9641] "triumphant"
## [9642] "ocean"
## [9643] "lorath"
## [9644] "stormy"
## [9645] "seas"
## [9646] "tempting"
## [9647] "despairing"
## [9648] "byan"
## [9649] "votyris"
## [9650] "withdrawing"
## [9651] "bestride"
## [9652] "conquerors"
## [9653] "pens"
## [9654] "whitewashed"
## [9655] "interior"
## [9656] "aisles"
## [9657] "shaded"
## [9658] "awnings"
## [9659] "unloading"
## [9660] "compared"
## [9661] "teeming"
## [9662] "unmolested"
## [9663] "profane"
## [9664] "buying"
## [9665] "sights"
## [9666] "locust"
## [9667] "noodles"
## [9668] "ululating"
## [9669] "cages"
## [9670] "elephants"
## [9671] "jogos"
## [9672] "nhai"
## [9673] "asshai’i"
## [9674] "qartheen"
## [9675] "tail"
## [9676] "hats"
## [9677] "bayasabhad"
## [9678] "shamyriana"
## [9679] "kayakayanaya"
## [9680] "dour"
## [9681] "tattoos"
## [9682] "masks"
## [9683] "odors"
## [9684] "heady"
## [9685] "bolts"
## [9686] "helmets"
## [9687] "tunics"
## [9688] "quilted"
## [9689] "scabbards"
## [9690] "breastplates"
## [9691] "goldwork"
## [9692] "brooches"
## [9693] "torcs"
## [9694] "exquisitely"
## [9695] "belting"
## [9696] "dye"
## [9697] "shady"
## [9698] "honeyfingers"
## [9699] "bake"
## [9700] "concluded"
## [9701] "stride"
## [9702] "queerly"
## [9703] "couplings"
## [9704] "stroll"
## [9705] "grilling"
## [9706] "firestone"
## [9707] "delighted"
## [9708] "discovery"
## [9709] "grilled"
## [9710] "spice"
## [9711] "outdo"
## [9712] "belching"
## [9713] "birdseller"
## [9714] "parrot"
## [9715] "flasks"
## [9716] "fertility"
## [9717] "charm"
## [9718] "magician’s"
## [9719] "booth"
## [9720] "sized"
## [9721] "passersby"
## [9722] "reds"
## [9723] "fluent"
## [9724] "whites"
## [9725] "pear"
## [9726] "brandy"
## [9727] "firewine"
## [9728] "pepperwine"
## [9729] "nectars"
## [9730] "andalish"
## [9731] "sours"
## [9732] "flaxen"
## [9733] "cherries"
## [9734] "swill"
## [9735] "delectable"
## [9736] "rummaged"
## [9737] "wineseller"
## [9738] "beamed"
## [9739] "hesitant"
## [9740] "plug"
## [9741] "amiable"
## [9742] "pours"
## [9743] "flinging"
## [9744] "bulled"
## [9745] "jhogo’s"
## [9746] "wineseller’s"
## [9747] "diminutive"
## [9748] "norvoshi"
## [9749] "bristling"
## [9750] "leaking"
## [9751] "soothe"
## [9752] "hummock"
## [9753] "lordships"
## [9754] "limned"
## [9755] "motes"
## [9756] "courtiers"
## [9757] "smokehole"
## [9758] "packhorse"
## [9759] "seller"
## [9760] "andal"
## [9761] "bharbo"
## [9762] "halter"
## [9763] "fog"
## [9764] "smudge"
## [9765] "wylis"
## [9766] "spurs"
## [9767] "wendel"
## [9768] "tridents"
## [9769] "wyman"
## [9770] "slapping"
## [9771] "neglected"
## [9772] "boisterous"
## [9773] "ostentatious"
## [9774] "walrus"
## [9775] "mustaches"
## [9776] "merman"
## [9777] "hailed"
## [9778] "peat"
## [9779] "hardbread"
## [9780] "outcrop"
## [9781] "sailcloth"
## [9782] "basalt"
## [9783] "boggy"
## [9784] "drunkard’s"
## [9785] "spew"
## [9786] "bellyful"
## [9787] "gutter"
## [9788] "legend"
## [9789] "crenellations"
## [9790] "rubble"
## [9791] "festooned"
## [9792] "ropy"
## [9793] "ghostskin"
## [9794] "impenetrable"
## [9795] "suckholes"
## [9796] "wade"
## [9797] "muck"
## [9798] "scale"
## [9799] "slimy"
## [9800] "exposing"
## [9801] "plank"
## [9802] "intently"
## [9803] "redder"
## [9804] "wolfs"
## [9805] "playful"
## [9806] "counsellor"
## [9807] "unskilled"
## [9808] "bunghole"
## [9809] "consternation"
## [9810] "fatigued"
## [9811] "obliging"
## [9812] "tilled"
## [9813] "formality"
## [9814] "squalling"
## [9815] "crumpled"
## [9816] "erik"
## [9817] "derik"
## [9818] "grimmer"
## [9819] "greywater"
## [9820] "commanders"
## [9821] "strongly"
## [9822] "maintain"
## [9823] "crofters"
## [9824] "fieldhands"
## [9825] "fishermen"
## [9826] "sheepherders"
## [9827] "innkeeps"
## [9828] "tanners"
## [9829] "leavened"
## [9830] "smattering"
## [9831] "indecisive"
## [9832] "virtues"
## [9833] "puzzling"
## [9834] "engage"
## [9835] "controls"
## [9836] "wounding"
## [9837] "fledgling"
## [9838] "confidence"
## [9839] "blurred"
## [9840] "chella"
## [9841] "cheyk"
## [9842] "scout"
## [9843] "ulf"
## [9844] "timett"
## [9845] "maim"
## [9846] "endlessly"
## [9847] "occasional"
## [9848] "raid"
## [9849] "brorm"
## [9850] "undersize"
## [9851] "ponies"
## [9852] "timett’s"
## [9853] "promptly"
## [9854] "crotch"
## [9855] "outcrops"
## [9856] "crossbowmen"
## [9857] "followers"
## [9858] "range"
## [9859] "recently"
## [9860] "pikemen"
## [9861] "cookfires"
## [9862] "inlaid"
## [9863] "jutted"
## [9864] "horsehead"
## [9865] "flement"
## [9866] "brax"
## [9867] "chella’s"
## [9868] "estimate"
## [9869] "presters"
## [9870] "crakehall’s"
## [9871] "marbrand"
## [9872] "badger"
## [9873] "lydden"
## [9874] "cantered"
## [9875] "job"
## [9876] "gibbet"
## [9877] "squawking"
## [9878] "oats"
## [9879] "fifties"
## [9880] "recede"
## [9881] "barber"
## [9882] "measures"
## [9883] "razored"
## [9884] "flecked"
## [9885] "demise"
## [9886] "unfounded"
## [9887] "acutely"
## [9888] "waddle"
## [9889] "deformities"
## [9890] "shortcomings"
## [9891] "submitted"
## [9892] "capture"
## [9893] "sally"
## [9894] "sheds"
## [9895] "impunity"
## [9896] "yeasty"
## [9897] "hanged"
## [9898] "nonce"
## [9899] "borders"
## [9900] "piecemeal"
## [9901] "regroup"
## [9902] "massed"
## [9903] "rout"
## [9904] "blackwood"
## [9905] "raventree"
## [9906] "unopposed"
## [9907] "lacks"
## [9908] "rots"
## [9909] "warhorns"
## [9910] "monarch"
## [9911] "persuasive"
## [9912] "reigns"
## [9913] "ruling"
## [9914] "tsking"
## [9915] "gall"
## [9916] "rudeness"
## [9917] "afterthoughts"
## [9918] "nuisance"
## [9919] "harassing"
## [9920] "foraging"
## [9921] "parties"
## [9922] "delusions"
## [9923] "scamper"
## [9924] "warms"
## [9925] "spank"
## [9926] "sideboard"
## [9927] "hauberks"
## [9928] "spearheads"
## [9929] "maces"
## [9930] "battleaxes"
## [9931] "gorgets"
## [9932] "swearing"
## [9933] "askew"
## [9934] "preceded"
## [9935] "redcape"
## [9936] "intrude"
## [9937] "lowlander"
## [9938] "twentieth"
## [9939] "kevan’s"
## [9940] "unperturbed"
## [9941] "acquaint"
## [9942] "coratt"
## [9943] "umar"
## [9944] "famously"
## [9945] "tytos"
## [9946] "dignified"
## [9947] "reduce"
## [9948] "banged"
## [9949] "addam"
## [9950] "den"
## [9951] "harass"
## [9952] "situated"
## [9953] "drummers"
## [9954] "assembly"
## [9955] "winterlands"
## [9956] "boldest"
## [9957] "untidy"
## [9958] "unguarded"
## [9959] "slynt’s"
## [9960] "commoners"
## [9961] "milled"
## [9962] "slobber"
## [9963] "gyles"
## [9964] "coughing"
## [9965] "dontos"
## [9966] "vainly"
## [9967] "seemingly"
## [9968] "chatted"
## [9969] "butterflies"
## [9970] "herald’s"
## [9971] "plush"
## [9972] "disloyal"
## [9973] "ermine"
## [9974] "scrollwork"
## [9975] "adjudged"
## [9976] "uncles"
## [9977] "stevron"
## [9978] "sheila"
## [9979] "doran"
## [9980] "consents"
## [9981] "stilled"
## [9982] "granted"
## [9983] "attendant"
## [9984] "governance"
## [9985] "angrier"
## [9986] "prickles"
## [9987] "turmoil"
## [9988] "paramount"
## [9989] "shrink"
## [9990] "accusingly"
## [9991] "lewyn"
## [9992] "profaned"
## [9993] "unmindful"
## [9994] "generously"
## [9995] "tract"
## [9996] "slithered"
## [9997] "confront"
## [9998] "add"
## [9999] "stirrings"
## [10000] "shuffle"
## [10001] "peevishly"
## [10002] "idle"
## [10003] "plots"
## [10004] "lugged"
## [10005] "herald"
## [10006] "fretted"
## [10007] "jewelry"
## [10008] "emboldened"
## [10009] "committed"
## [10010] "noxious"
## [10011] "stem"
## [10012] "roadside"
## [10013] "fanned"
## [10014] "rocked"
## [10015] "repented"
## [10016] "soaring"
## [10017] "urine"
## [10018] "slop"
## [10019] "nitre"
## [10020] "absolute"
## [10021] "float"
## [10022] "nightmares"
## [10023] "nettles"
## [10024] "dealt"
## [10025] "fissures"
## [10026] "moths"
## [10027] "creaked"
## [10028] "gulped"
## [10029] "scarecrow"
## [10030] "rat’s"
## [10031] "pollen"
## [10032] "berserk"
## [10033] "beauty’s"
## [10034] "laurel"
## [10035] "thorns"
## [10036] "cramps"
## [10037] "squint"
## [10038] "stouter"
## [10039] "groggily"
## [10040] "magician"
## [10041] "poisonous"
## [10042] "dregs"
## [10043] "unarmed"
## [10044] "unarmored"
## [10045] "tilting"
## [10046] "frugal"
## [10047] "obsequious"
## [10048] "scruple"
## [10049] "cowardly"
## [10050] "luxury"
## [10051] "scruples"
## [10052] "depend"
## [10053] "honesty"
## [10054] "wineskins"
## [10055] "adder"
## [10056] "astray"
## [10057] "abbatoir"
## [10058] "heeded"
## [10059] "martells"
## [10060] "sleepless"
## [10061] "seashells"
## [10062] "lop"
## [10063] "bargain"
## [10064] "tsked"
## [10065] "tame"
## [10066] "faithless"
## [10067] "usurpers"
## [10068] "scheme"
## [10069] "devious"
## [10070] "schemes"
## [10071] "ponder"
## [10072] "trooped"
## [10073] "apprehensions"
## [10074] "clench"
## [10075] "confer"
## [10076] "vanguard"
## [10077] "friendlier"
## [10078] "sired"
## [10079] "heatedly"
## [10080] "reporting"
## [10081] "blackbirds"
## [10082] "addam’s"
## [10083] "walder’s"
## [10084] "strung"
## [10085] "frey’s"
## [10086] "encouraged"
## [10087] "fuming"
## [10088] "rafts"
## [10089] "pole"
## [10090] "outrider"
## [10091] "edmure’s"
## [10092] "accursed"
## [10093] "relieving"
## [10094] "cautioned"
## [10095] "sulky"
## [10096] "obstacle"
## [10097] "accomplish"
## [10098] "exact"
## [10099] "deploy"
## [10100] "usurping"
## [10101] "identical"
## [10102] "arching"
## [10103] "moats"
## [10104] "approaches"
## [10105] "footings"
## [10106] "scorpions"
## [10107] "crenel"
## [10108] "assaulted"
## [10109] "invest"
## [10110] "gloomily"
## [10111] "weasels"
## [10112] "inquire"
## [10113] "leads"
## [10114] "glibly"
## [10115] "vouchsafe"
## [10116] "minus"
## [10117] "numerous"
## [10118] "granddaughters"
## [10119] "unassisted"
## [10120] "reproachfully"
## [10121] "ryger"
## [10122] "milking"
## [10123] "dismissed"
## [10124] "whalen"
## [10125] "beckoned"
## [10126] "papery"
## [10127] "heh"
## [10128] "confirmation"
## [10129] "spitted"
## [10130] "querulous"
## [10131] "designs"
## [10132] "fidelity"
## [10133] "nephews"
## [10134] "stevron’s"
## [10135] "disappointing"
## [10136] "them’s"
## [10137] "humbly"
## [10138] "honey’s"
## [10139] "pissed"
## [10140] "virgins"
## [10141] "widows"
## [10142] "excuses"
## [10143] "daisy"
## [10144] "crakehall"
## [10145] "sluts"
## [10146] "unworthy"
## [10147] "mannerly"
## [10148] "merrett’s"
## [10149] "naming"
## [10150] "bungholes"
## [10151] "walda"
## [10152] "ronel"
## [10153] "shuffling"
## [10154] "augment"
## [10155] "gazing"
## [10156] "wards"
## [10157] "companionship"
## [10158] "fosterlings"
## [10159] "olyvar"
## [10160] "elmar"
## [10161] "consented"
## [10162] "whichever"
## [10163] "pact"
## [10164] "tenths"
## [10165] "slats"
## [10166] "masses"
## [10167] "squawked"
## [10168] "singed"
## [10169] "disreputable"
## [10170] "grumpy"
## [10171] "flexed"
## [10172] "swathed"
## [10173] "roaches"
## [10174] "aflame"
## [10175] "basins"
## [10176] "bobbing"
## [10177] "pestilential"
## [10178] "renowed"
## [10179] "unquiet"
## [10180] "copies"
## [10181] "resentfully"
## [10182] "strutting"
## [10183] "inkling"
## [10184] "preening"
## [10185] "hunk"
## [10186] "weighted"
## [10187] "unstained"
## [10188] "tapered"
## [10189] "fullers"
## [10190] "incised"
## [10191] "halfer"
## [10192] "wielded"
## [10193] "wonderingly"
## [10194] "original"
## [10195] "indistinguishable"
## [10196] "apt"
## [10197] "stonecarver"
## [10198] "feats"
## [10199] "birthright"
## [10200] "but’s"
## [10201] "consumed"
## [10202] "furniture"
## [10203] "nimbus"
## [10204] "sloughing"
## [10205] "gleam"
## [10206] "demonic"
## [10207] "jellied"
## [10208] "molding"
## [10209] "longclaw"
## [10210] "strikes"
## [10211] "endrew"
## [10212] "tarth"
## [10213] "assume"
## [10214] "yestermorn"
## [10215] "flowers’s"
## [10216] "glorified"
## [10217] "indignant"
## [10218] "bird’s"
## [10219] "twixt"
## [10220] "amount"
## [10221] "henceforth"
## [10222] "freeing"
## [10223] "malignance"
## [10224] "itches"
## [10225] "skimp"
## [10226] "raven’s"
## [10227] "contented"
## [10228] "quorking"
## [10229] "lurkers"
## [10230] "rosy"
## [10231] "stated"
## [10232] "dumber"
## [10233] "rudge"
## [10234] "gutting"
## [10235] "othor’s"
## [10236] "murderous"
## [10237] "headless"
## [10238] "avail"
## [10239] "foemen"
## [10240] "soured"
## [10241] "hibernation"
## [10242] "openmouthed"
## [10243] "chopped"
## [10244] "scurried"
## [10245] "morsels"
## [10246] "relish"
## [10247] "doves"
## [10248] "pigeons"
## [10249] "flyer"
## [10250] "hawks"
## [10251] "godly"
## [10252] "abhor"
## [10253] "prefers"
## [10254] "beggars"
## [10255] "misunderstood"
## [10256] "officer"
## [10257] "contradict"
## [10258] "ringingly"
## [10259] "shielded"
## [10260] "resolve"
## [10261] "harren"
## [10262] "harren’s"
## [10263] "posts"
## [10264] "beaks"
## [10265] "exposed"
## [10266] "greedily"
## [10267] "fullness"
## [10268] "grieved"
## [10269] "toothless"
## [10270] "don"
## [10271] "loosely"
## [10272] "fleshless"
## [10273] "maekar"
## [10274] "rye"
## [10275] "lentils"
## [10276] "sown"
## [10277] "jaqqa"
## [10278] "rhan"
## [10279] "scurry"
## [10280] "shafts"
## [10281] "ogo’s"
## [10282] "shepherds"
## [10283] "roiling"
## [10284] "whips"
## [10285] "herded"
## [10286] "bondage"
## [10287] "grandfathers"
## [10288] "lhazareen"
## [10289] "haesh"
## [10290] "rakhi"
## [10291] "herders"
## [10292] "eaters"
## [10293] "boxed"
## [10294] "snared"
## [10295] "lash"
## [10296] "greathelm"
## [10297] "tempers"
## [10298] "taunts"
## [10299] "topped"
## [10300] "consequence"
## [10301] "deliverance"
## [10302] "meereen"
## [10303] "slaving"
## [10304] "heartrending"
## [10305] "silver’s"
## [10306] "offends"
## [10307] "ai"
## [10308] "plunge"
## [10309] "aggo’s"
## [10310] "rider’s"
## [10311] "grisly"
## [10312] "twisty"
## [10313] "lanes"
## [10314] "victim"
## [10315] "bodied"
## [10316] "haltingly"
## [10317] "bulbous"
## [10318] "mago"
## [10319] "ko"
## [10320] "jhaqo"
## [10321] "lambs"
## [10322] "direct"
## [10323] "cruelest"
## [10324] "trample"
## [10325] "healers"
## [10326] "barren"
## [10327] "herbwomen"
## [10328] "speaker"
## [10329] "embroidery"
## [10330] "skill"
## [10331] "mirri"
## [10332] "maz"
## [10333] "duur"
## [10334] "godswife"
## [10335] "maegi"
## [10336] "cookfire"
## [10337] "demons"
## [10338] "soulless"
## [10339] "sheeps"
## [10340] "bloodrider’s"
## [10341] "outburst"
## [10342] "thickbodied"
## [10343] "pleasing"
## [10344] "shepherd"
## [10345] "smokes"
## [10346] "berry"
## [10347] "mages"
## [10348] "moonsinger"
## [10349] "marwyn"
## [10350] "tools"
## [10351] "god’s"
## [10352] "unaided"
## [10353] "wave"
## [10354] "anterooms"
## [10355] "central"
## [10356] "smokily"
## [10357] "sheepskins"
## [10358] "images"
## [10359] "flocks"
## [10360] "plainfaced"
## [10361] "boxes"
## [10362] "arrowhead"
## [10363] "smearing"
## [10364] "paste"
## [10365] "bobbin"
## [10366] "ointment"
## [10367] "lambskin"
## [10368] "hastened"
## [10369] "pike"
## [10370] "saddlesore"
## [10371] "vividly"
## [10372] "fireflies"
## [10373] "burying"
## [10374] "greedy"
## [10375] "loveliest"
## [10376] "ages"
## [10377] "slices"
## [10378] "unman"
## [10379] "grips"
## [10380] "lefford"
## [10381] "reluctance"
## [10382] "equip"
## [10383] "skewered"
## [10384] "dubiously"
## [10385] "judging"
## [10386] "chopping"
## [10387] "compelled"
## [10388] "obedience"
## [10389] "baggage"
## [10390] "kindnesses"
## [10391] "van"
## [10392] "inclined"
## [10393] "dismissing"
## [10394] "pursuer"
## [10395] "spearmen"
## [10396] "tankard"
## [10397] "suspended"
## [10398] "coaxed"
## [10399] "lefford’s"
## [10400] "fishbones"
## [10401] "podrick"
## [10402] "coax"
## [10403] "inflicted"
## [10404] "shae"
## [10405] "compensations"
## [10406] "doe"
## [10407] "demurely"
## [10408] "splendidly"
## [10409] "hem"
## [10410] "cloves"
## [10411] "endearments"
## [10412] "shuddering"
## [10413] "crave"
## [10414] "softness"
## [10415] "mines"
## [10416] "impertinence"
## [10417] "minor"
## [10418] "insignificant"
## [10419] "purred"
## [10420] "blare"
## [10421] "trumpets"
## [10422] "whicker"
## [10423] "blundered"
## [10424] "extinguished"
## [10425] "coursers"
## [10426] "array"
## [10427] "buckles"
## [10428] "rays"
## [10429] "leaders"
## [10430] "unfolded"
## [10431] "quivers"
## [10432] "stringing"
## [10433] "serrett"
## [10434] "cavalry"
## [10435] "unfurl"
## [10436] "standardbearer"
## [10437] "flement’s"
## [10438] "swyft"
## [10439] "reserve"
## [10440] "unfold"
## [10441] "committing"
## [10442] "afar"
## [10443] "greatcloak"
## [10444] "hindquarters"
## [10445] "suffice"
## [10446] "lionesses"
## [10447] "reclined"
## [10448] "paw"
## [10449] "raking"
## [10450] "sunbursts"
## [10451] "foemen’s"
## [10452] "targets"
## [10453] "bowman"
## [10454] "shallows"
## [10455] "cocks"
## [10456] "fishes"
## [10457] "hillsides"
## [10458] "gesticulating"
## [10459] "sweepings"
## [10460] "swarming"
## [10461] "undisciplined"
## [10462] "unthinking"
## [10463] "travesty"
## [10464] "haroooooooooooooooooooooooo"
## [10465] "da"
## [10466] "daaaaaaaaa"
## [10467] "brazen"
## [10468] "flanking"
## [10469] "blared"
## [10470] "daaa"
## [10471] "daaaaaaa"
## [10472] "surged"
## [10473] "canter"
## [10474] "bloodcurdling"
## [10475] "veterans"
## [10476] "spearhead"
## [10477] "maddened"
## [10478] "throes"
## [10479] "conn’s"
## [10480] "shear"
## [10481] "lungs"
## [10482] "cleaving"
## [10483] "shrunk"
## [10484] "lopped"
## [10485] "backslash"
## [10486] "woody"
## [10487] "thrower"
## [10488] "moment’s"
## [10489] "aimed"
## [10490] "swipe"
## [10491] "whanging"
## [10492] "scraping"
## [10493] "croaking"
## [10494] "flail"
## [10495] "viscera"
## [10496] "croak"
## [10497] "angle"
## [10498] "oval"
## [10499] "reinforced"
## [10500] "crumbled"
## [10501] "whirl"
## [10502] "riddled"
## [10503] "expressionless"
## [10504] "anticipated"
## [10505] "consorts"
## [10506] "lathered"
## [10507] "rangy"
## [10508] "bronzed"
## [10509] "fiery"
## [10510] "pawed"
## [10511] "leafy"
## [10512] "chink"
## [10513] "protecting"
## [10514] "unharmed"
## [10515] "hal’s"
## [10516] "tumblestone"
## [10517] "crenels"
## [10518] "loops"
## [10519] "rivershore"
## [10520] "bug"
## [10521] "waxed"
## [10522] "waned"
## [10523] "wagered"
## [10524] "clinked"
## [10525] "breeze"
## [10526] "besiege"
## [10527] "undoing"
## [10528] "headwaters"
## [10529] "masterless"
## [10530] "clamored"
## [10531] "smalljon"
## [10532] "daryn"
## [10533] "robin"
## [10534] "dacey"
## [10535] "maege’s"
## [10536] "lanky"
## [10537] "footer"
## [10538] "trill"
## [10539] "shrikes"
## [10540] "stating"
## [10541] "recrossed"
## [10542] "densely"
## [10543] "wooded"
## [10544] "ridges"
## [10545] "sloping"
## [10546] "streambed"
## [10547] "underbrush"
## [10548] "thinning"
## [10549] "haaroooooooooooooooooooooooo"
## [10550] "winded"
## [10551] "downhill"
## [10552] "willowisps"
## [10553] "piebald"
## [10554] "torrhen’s"
## [10555] "mob"
## [10556] "unnecessarily"
## [10557] "peeling"
## [10558] "condoned"
## [10559] "hornwood’s"
## [10560] "westerling"
## [10561] "banefort"
## [10562] "garth"
## [10563] "estren"
## [10564] "mallor"
## [10565] "dornishman"
## [10566] "pitiless"
## [10567] "clop"
## [10568] "rhythmic"
## [10569] "tingle"
## [10570] "purplish"
## [10571] "bloodflies"
## [10572] "marshes"
## [10573] "shoot"
## [10574] "duur’s"
## [10575] "poultice"
## [10576] "itched"
## [10577] "soothing"
## [10578] "bloodfly"
## [10579] "crease"
## [10580] "harshly"
## [10581] "impassive"
## [10582] "leaden"
## [10583] "sere"
## [10584] "inhospitable"
## [10585] "camping"
## [10586] "stifling"
## [10587] "eroeh"
## [10588] "mat"
## [10589] "unhooked"
## [10590] "laces"
## [10591] "flaps"
## [10592] "delirium"
## [10593] "fearfully"
## [10594] "tepid"
## [10595] "sweetening"
## [10596] "dimness"
## [10597] "pus"
## [10598] "mustn’t"
## [10599] "pono"
## [10600] "kos"
## [10601] "rivals"
## [10602] "hollows"
## [10603] "godswife’s"
## [10604] "haggo’s"
## [10605] "mirri’s"
## [10606] "wobbly"
## [10607] "qotho’s"
## [10608] "loosening"
## [10609] "healer’s"
## [10610] "dulling"
## [10611] "firepod"
## [10612] "cleaner"
## [10613] "bloodmage"
## [10614] "bloodmagic"
## [10615] "leak"
## [10616] "subdue"
## [10617] "bathwaters"
## [10618] "chanted"
## [10619] "pyre"
## [10620] "beading"
## [10621] "footprints"
## [10622] "drain"
## [10623] "fountained"
## [10624] "quaro’s"
## [10625] "slashes"
## [10626] "flopping"
## [10627] "cord"
## [10628] "sinew"
## [10629] "dispersing"
## [10630] "convulsed"
## [10631] "dancers"
## [10632] "busily"
## [10633] "cobblestones"
## [10634] "askance"
## [10635] "here’s"
## [10636] "crumbs"
## [10637] "lemons"
## [10638] "apricots"
## [10639] "rumbly"
## [10640] "pushcart"
## [10641] "oven"
## [10642] "tart"
## [10643] "keepin"
## [10644] "thieving"
## [10645] "dyed"
## [10646] "cudgel"
## [10647] "wistful"
## [10648] "knots"
## [10649] "squabbled"
## [10650] "flea"
## [10651] "stuffing"
## [10652] "ruptured"
## [10653] "tanner’s"
## [10654] "district"
## [10655] "carriages"
## [10656] "saddlebags"
## [10657] "currents"
## [10658] "ferryman"
## [10659] "tubs"
## [10660] "simmering"
## [10661] "yesterday’s"
## [10662] "cake"
## [10663] "conceal"
## [10664] "robbers"
## [10665] "rabbits"
## [10666] "potshops"
## [10667] "dodge"
## [10668] "whooping"
## [10669] "gang"
## [10670] "hoop"
## [10671] "hoops"
## [10672] "mussing"
## [10673] "puddles"
## [10674] "mussed"
## [10675] "gull"
## [10676] "stowed"
## [10677] "riverfront"
## [10678] "wharfs"
## [10679] "formation"
## [10680] "hulls"
## [10681] "sleek"
## [10682] "banked"
## [10683] "moorings"
## [10684] "longshoreman"
## [10685] "unpaved"
## [10686] "winesinks"
## [10687] "bubbling"
## [10688] "ha’mercy"
## [10689] "rubbing"
## [10690] "summoning"
## [10691] "tolling"
## [10692] "scampered"
## [10693] "puddle"
## [10694] "heading"
## [10695] "carryin"
## [10696] "buu"
## [10697] "rut"
## [10698] "thumbnail"
## [10699] "mares"
## [10700] "giggle"
## [10701] "nail"
## [10702] "baelor’s"
## [10703] "ain’t"
## [10704] "knick"
## [10705] "anoint"
## [10706] "lordship’s"
## [10707] "plaza"
## [10708] "yammering"
## [10709] "straining"
## [10710] "stomachs"
## [10711] "teamster"
## [10712] "smears"
## [10713] "pulpit"
## [10714] "prominent"
## [10715] "lacquer"
## [10716] "filigree"
## [10717] "prodded"
## [10718] "depose"
## [10719] "entreaty"
## [10720] "bids"
## [10721] "unpunished"
## [10722] "skeleton"
## [10723] "trampling"
## [10724] "shins"
## [10725] "buffeted"
## [10726] "ripple"
## [10727] "sighing"
## [10728] "squinting"
## [10729] "dissolved"
## [10730] "staves"
## [10731] "punctuated"
## [10732] "thwacks"
## [10733] "yowls"
## [10734] "noting"
## [10735] "comet"
## [10736] "poleaxe"
## [10737] "pecks"
## [10738] "spin"
## [10739] "symeon"
## [10740] "solve"
## [10741] "uncomplaining"
## [10742] "shackles"
## [10743] "hinder"
## [10744] "winter’s"
## [10745] "bearded"
## [10746] "levels"
## [10747] "shipwright"
## [10748] "burner"
## [10749] "cregan"
## [10750] "maid’s"
## [10751] "sadder"
## [10752] "sepulchre"
## [10753] "empt"
## [10754] "caromed"
## [10755] "shooting"
## [10756] "guttering"
## [10757] "shredded"
## [10758] "shaggydog’s"
## [10759] "kills"
## [10760] "rdquo"
## [10761] "cluttered"
## [10762] "tottering"
## [10763] "stubs"
## [10764] "tripod"
## [10765] "charts"
## [10766] "quills"
## [10767] "inks"
## [10768] "droppings"
## [10769] "strident"
## [10770] "quorks"
## [10771] "terse"
## [10772] "gnawing"
## [10773] "ooh"
## [10774] "firemilk"
## [10775] "doggedly"
## [10776] "pads"
## [10777] "trusts"
## [10778] "arrowheads"
## [10779] "dragonglass"
## [10780] "bandagings"
## [10781] "stature"
## [10782] "crannogs"
## [10783] "snares"
## [10784] "greenseers"
## [10785] "leathern"
## [10786] "races"
## [10787] "prevailed"
## [10788] "chiefs"
## [10789] "groves"
## [10790] "coastlands"
## [10791] "meadows"
## [10792] "signing"
## [10793] "sway"
## [10794] "endured"
## [10795] "scorpion"
## [10796] "sleepwalker"
## [10797] "dishes"
## [10798] "fling"
## [10799] "bedmaid"
## [10800] "honeywater"
## [10801] "huddle"
## [10802] "noon"
## [10803] "slam"
## [10804] "bedgown"
## [10805] "backhanding"
## [10806] "chastise"
## [10807] "sank"
## [10808] "buttermilk"
## [10809] "biscuits"
## [10810] "pouchy"
## [10811] "bags"
## [10812] "rusty"
## [10813] "exiled"
## [10814] "dispensed"
## [10815] "executed"
## [10816] "decently"
## [10817] "ridiculed"
## [10818] "verses"
## [10819] "worries"
## [10820] "cringed"
## [10821] "rampart"
## [10822] "wallwalk"
## [10823] "recognizable"
## [10824] "godsworn"
## [10825] "upsetting"
## [10826] "pretends"
## [10827] "messy"
## [10828] "wormlips"
## [10829] "arches"
## [10830] "sex"
## [10831] "smouldered"
## [10832] "substantial"
## [10833] "channels"
## [10834] "pinching"
## [10835] "almonds"
## [10836] "moth"
## [10837] "opal"
## [10838] "amethyst"
## [10839] "tourmaline"
## [10840] "drenched"
## [10841] "remade"
## [10842] "tipping"
## [10843] "dimmer"
## [10844] "serene"
## [10845] "gusted"
## [10846] "dampened"
## [10847] "heaviness"
## [10848] "lashes"
## [10849] "whorls"
## [10850] "bedsilks"
## [10851] "perspiration"
## [10852] "dragondew"
## [10853] "dizziness"
## [10854] "mdash"
## [10855] "jhiqui’s"
## [10856] "sloughed"
## [10857] "graveworms"
## [10858] "milling"
## [10859] "listlessly"
## [10860] "bedrolls"
## [10861] "jhaqo’s"
## [10862] "mago’s"
## [10863] "stormhorn"
## [10864] "dribble"
## [10865] "quickens"
## [10866] "nations"
## [10867] "baker"
## [10868] "deadeye"
## [10869] "soaping"
## [10870] "combing"
## [10871] "moonless"
## [10872] "omen"
## [10873] "messenger’s"
## [10874] "dulled"
## [10875] "exhaustion"
## [10876] "reminding"
## [10877] "courier"
## [10878] "hardships"
## [10879] "mightily"
## [10880] "grueling"
## [10881] "fend"
## [10882] "shae’s"
## [10883] "dire"
## [10884] "harys"
## [10885] "slandered"
## [10886] "shameless"
## [10887] "lickspittle"
## [10888] "accomplishment"
## [10889] "marrying"
## [10890] "equally"
## [10891] "triangle"
## [10892] "threatens"
## [10893] "sluice"
## [10894] "sheer"
## [10895] "defenders"
## [10896] "besieger"
## [10897] "palisades"
## [10898] "piper’s"
## [10899] "pupils"
## [10900] "preferring"
## [10901] "habit"
## [10902] "emulate"
## [10903] "uncharacteristic"
## [10904] "ditch"
## [10905] "downstream"
## [10906] "raft"
## [10907] "overturned"
## [10908] "riverbanks"
## [10909] "tabard"
## [10910] "winy"
## [10911] "overrun"
## [10912] "umber’s"
## [10913] "engaged"
## [10914] "sortie"
## [10915] "forley"
## [10916] "prester"
## [10917] "dappling"
## [10918] "catastrophe"
## [10919] "squarely"
## [10920] "sue"
## [10921] "truce"
## [10922] "acidly"
## [10923] "disdainfully"
## [10924] "ransom"
## [10925] "addarn"
## [10926] "babble"
## [10927] "suet"
## [10928] "speechlessness"
## [10929] "joff’s"
## [10930] "follies"
## [10931] "poleaxed"
## [10932] "bride’s"
## [10933] "furrows"
## [10934] "canyons"
## [10935] "undefended"
## [10936] "hears"
## [10937] "shadowbinder"
## [10938] "smoothing"
## [10939] "purposes"
## [10940] "exist"
## [10941] "creasing"
## [10942] "exceed"
## [10943] "remaining"
## [10944] "warier"
## [10945] "vanishings"
## [10946] "unleash"
## [10947] "reavers"
## [10948] "vargo"
## [10949] "hoat"
## [10950] "amory"
## [10951] "lorch"
## [10952] "rapine"
## [10953] "uncouth"
## [10954] "venerable"
## [10955] "cockless"
## [10956] "lurches"
## [10957] "cocking"
## [10958] "smallfolks"
## [10959] "cozy"
## [10960] "garret"
## [10961] "drawback"
## [10962] "stiffen"
## [10963] "cinch"
## [10964] "widening"
## [10965] "wrappings"
## [10966] "overland"
## [10967] "deception"
## [10968] "braving"
## [10969] "worshiped"
## [10970] "farming"
## [10971] "sleeveless"
## [10972] "haven"
## [10973] "gage’s"
## [10974] "denials"
## [10975] "motherless"
## [10976] "friendless"
## [10977] "outsider"
## [10978] "dares"
## [10979] "disguised"
## [10980] "outrun"
## [10981] "trussed"
## [10982] "mule’s"
## [10983] "haw"
## [10984] "connected"
## [10985] "privy"
## [10986] "mining"
## [10987] "oathbreaking"
## [10988] "runoff"
## [10989] "snowmelt"
## [10990] "splashed"
## [10991] "biscuit"
## [10992] "filched"
## [10993] "juicy"
## [10994] "ouiet"
## [10995] "cloudy"
## [10996] "toad’s"
## [10997] "rustled"
## [10998] "bounding"
## [10999] "piped"
## [11000] "brandishing"
## [11001] "immensity"
## [11002] "lax"
## [11003] "wildling’s"
## [11004] "wouid"
## [11005] "lightening"
## [11006] "steak"
## [11007] "yoke"
## [11008] "men’s"
## [11009] "hoary"
## [11010] "snark"
## [11011] "gorge"
## [11012] "jen"
## [11013] "dribbling"
## [11014] "boat"
## [11015] "swaddling"
## [11016] "waterwheel"
## [11017] "sandstone"
## [11018] "vine"
## [11019] "hooks"
## [11020] "prow"
## [11021] "vyman"
## [11022] "dreamwine"
## [11023] "cat’s"
## [11024] "bethany"
## [11025] "inutterably"
## [11026] "riverrun’s"
## [11027] "chiding"
## [11028] "regaling"
## [11029] "elms"
## [11030] "flooding"
## [11031] "bower"
## [11032] "blustering"
## [11033] "uncombed"
## [11034] "cajole"
## [11035] "tankards"
## [11036] "athwart"
## [11037] "strengthened"
## [11038] "opposed"
## [11039] "rightfully"
## [11040] "laggardly"
## [11041] "lawful"
## [11042] "weaselly"
## [11043] "arming"
## [11044] "terms"
## [11045] "ransoms"
## [11046] "sheathe"
## [11047] "tactics"
## [11048] "strategy"
## [11049] "futility"
## [11050] "ravaging"
## [11051] "falsely"
## [11052] "plowshare"
## [11053] "debate"
## [11054] "foragers"
## [11055] "cottonwoods"
## [11056] "sheaves"
## [11057] "straightest"
## [11058] "shavings"
## [11059] "maegi’s"
## [11060] "braying"
## [11061] "thickest"
## [11062] "zenith"
## [11063] "dacnerys"
## [11064] "fondly"
## [11065] "thicker"
## [11066] "twigs"
## [11067] "handled"
## [11068] "heed"
## [11069] "refusal"
## [11070] "queensguard"
## [11071] "enfold"
## [11072] "soreness"
## [11073] "dissolve"
## [11074] "irri’s"
## [11075] "lover’s"
## [11076] "uncut"
## [11077] "semen"
## [11078] "buckling"
## [11079] "wealthy"
## [11080] "staked"
## [11081] "steed"
## [11082] "skating"
## [11083] "liquefy"
## [11084] "shriller"
## [11085] "gouts"
## [11086] "unfurled"
## [11087] "hellish"
## [11088] "cinders"
## [11089] "conflagration"
## [11090] "veils"
## [11091] "soles"
## [11092] "robed"
## [11093] "firelions"
## [11094] "serpents"
## [11095] "unicorns"
## [11096] "foxes"
## [11097] "skipped"
## [11098] "snaked"
## [11099] "firefall"
## [11100] "belch"
## [11101] "unafraid"
## [11102] "firestorm"
## [11103] "ember"
## [11104] "sinuous"
## [11105] "venting"
## [11106] "unfolding"
## [11107] "founder"
## [11108] "orys"
## [11109] "rumored"
## [11110] "argilac"
## [11111] "argilac’s"
## [11112] "adopted"
## [11113] "shireen"
## [11114] "jalabar"
## [11115] "jester"
## [11116] "tyrek"
## [11117] "wylde"
## [11118] "penrose"
## [11119] "errol"
## [11120] "estermont"
## [11121] "celtigar"
## [11122] "velaryon"
## [11123] "seaworth"
## [11124] "sunglass"
## [11125] "tutor"
## [11126] "trainer"
## [11127] "storyteller"
## [11128] "adventurers"
## [11129] "wealthiest"
## [11130] "joanna"
## [11131] "childbed"
## [11132] "dorna"
## [11133] "janei"
## [11134] "genna"
## [11135] "cleos"
## [11136] "tion"
## [11137] "tygett"
## [11138] "darlessa"
## [11139] "gerion"
## [11140] "stafford"
## [11141] "cerenna"
## [11142] "myrielle"
## [11143] "daven"
## [11144] "counselor"
## [11145] "creylen"
## [11146] "leo"
## [11147] "androx"
## [11148] "loach"
## [11149] "purest"
## [11150] "nobility"
## [11151] "deceased"
## [11152] "rowena"
## [11153] "suitor"
## [11154] "anya"
## [11155] "belmore"
## [11156] "melcolm"
## [11157] "hersy"
## [11158] "harwyn"
## [11159] "hardhand"
## [11160] "arrec"
## [11161] "ancestors"
## [11162] "tyrant"
## [11163] "edmyn"
## [11164] "dominion"
## [11165] "requiring"
## [11166] "minisa"
## [11167] "grell"
## [11168] "utherydes"
## [11169] "seagate"
## [11170] "domains"
## [11171] "southwest"
## [11172] "greenhand"
## [11173] "gardener"
## [11174] "bloom"
## [11175] "harlen"
## [11176] "pledging"
## [11177] "alerie"
## [11178] "willas"
## [11179] "garlan"
## [11180] "olenna"
## [11181] "mina"
## [11182] "paxter"
## [11183] "janna"
## [11184] "fossoway"
## [11185] "seneschal"
## [11186] "garse"
## [11187] "garrett"
## [11188] "moryn"
## [11189] "gormon"
## [11190] "scholar"
## [11191] "lomys"
## [11192] "igon"
## [11193] "vyrwel"
## [11194] "vortimer"
## [11195] "desmera"
## [11196] "arwyn"
## [11197] "mathis"
## [11198] "leyton"
## [11199] "vrywel"
## [11200] "mullendore"
## [11201] "greyjoys"
## [11202] "mermaid"
## [11203] "ironmen"
## [11204] "freedoms"
## [11205] "urron"
## [11206] "hereditary"
## [11207] "urron’s"
## [11208] "intermarried"
## [11209] "extended"
## [11210] "carving"
## [11211] "mainland"
## [11212] "qhored"
## [11213] "truthfully"
## [11214] "writ"
## [11215] "qhored’s"
## [11216] "descendants"
## [11217] "revive"
## [11218] "primacy"
## [11219] "vickon"
## [11220] "sow"
## [11221] "reaper"
## [11222] "alannys"
## [11223] "harlaw"
## [11224] "maron"
## [11225] "asha"
## [11226] "euron"
## [11227] "crow’s"
## [11228] "pirate"
## [11229] "victarion"
## [11230] "aeron"
## [11231] "damphair"
## [11232] "stonehouse"
## [11233] "merlyn"
## [11234] "sunderly"
## [11235] "botley"
## [11236] "tawney"
## [11237] "wynch"
## [11238] "goodbrother"
## [11239] "southernmost"
## [11240] "mors"
## [11241] "influence"
## [11242] "rulers"
## [11243] "treaty"
## [11244] "peaceable"
## [11245] "daeron"
## [11246] "succeeded"
## [11247] "myriah"
## [11248] "unbowed"
## [11249] "unbent"
## [11250] "nymeros"
## [11251] "sunspear"
## [11252] "mellario"
## [11253] "arianne"
## [11254] "quentyn"
## [11255] "trystane"
## [11256] "oberyn"
## [11257] "areo"
## [11258] "hotah"
## [11259] "norvashi"
## [11260] "caleotte"
## [11261] "edric"
## [11262] "jordayne"
## [11263] "allyrion"
## [11264] "toland"
## [11265] "yronwood"
## [11266] "fowler"
## [11267] "dynasty"
## [11268] "heritage"
## [11269] "inhuman"
## [11270] "representing"
## [11271] "dated"
## [11272] "aenys"
## [11273] "visenya"
## [11274] "103"
## [11275] "conciliator"
## [11276] "129"
## [11277] "131"
## [11278] "ii’s"
## [11279] "disputed"
## [11280] "rhaenyra"
## [11281] "157"
## [11282] "rhaenyra’s"
## [11283] "161"
## [11284] "171"
## [11285] "172"
## [11286] "184"
## [11287] "iv"
## [11288] "209"
## [11289] "221"
## [11290] "233"
## [11291] "259"
## [11292] "262"
## [11293] "283"
## [11294] "dethroned"
## [11295] "rhaella"length(unique(got_stop$word))## [1] 11295# We probably don't want to include them all in a word cloud. Let's filter to only include the top 100 most frequent?
got_top100 <- got_stop %>%
count(word) %>%
arrange(-n) %>%
slice(1:100)
got_top100## # A tibble: 100 × 2
## word n
## <chr> <int>
## 1 lord 1341
## 2 ser 1023
## 3 jon 787
## 4 ned 743
## 5 tyrion 591
## 6 eyes 567
## 7 hand 567
## 8 king 542
## 9 father 512
## 10 told 504
## # ℹ 90 more rowsgot_cloud <- ggplot(data = got_top100, aes(label = word)) +
geom_text_wordcloud() +
theme_minimal()
got_cloud
That’s underwhelming. Let’s customize it a bit:
ggplot(data = got_top100, aes(label = word, size = n)) +
geom_text_wordcloud_area(aes(color = n), shape = "circle") +
scale_size_area(max_size = 12) +
scale_color_gradientn(colors = c("darkgreen","blue","red")) +
theme_minimal()
Cool! And you can facet wrap (for different reports, for example) and update other aesthetics. See more here: https://cran.r-project.org/web/packages/ggwordcloud/vignettes/ggwordcloud.html
Sentiment analysis
First, check out the ‘sentiments’ lexicon. From Julia Silge and David Robinson (https://www.tidytextmining.com/sentiment.html):
“The three general-purpose lexicons are
- AFINN from Finn Årup Nielsen,
- bing from Bing Liu and collaborators, and
- nrc from Saif Mohammad and Peter Turney
All three of these lexicons are based on unigrams, i.e., single words. These lexicons contain many English words and the words are assigned scores for positive/negative sentiment, and also possibly emotions like joy, anger, sadness, and so forth. The AFINN lexicon assigns words with a score that runs between -5 and 5, with negative scores indicating negative sentiment and positive scores indicating positive sentiment. The bing lexicon categorizes words in a binary fashion into positive and negative categories. The nrc lexicon categorizes words in a binary fashion (“yes”/“no”) into categories of positive, negative, anger, anticipation, disgust, fear, joy, sadness, surprise, and trust. All of this information is tabulated in the sentiments dataset, and tidytext provides a function get_sentiments() to get specific sentiment lexicons without the columns that are not used in that lexicon.”
Let’s explore the sentiment lexicons. “bing” is included, other lexicons (“afinn”, “nrc”, “loughran”) you’ll be prompted to download.
WARNING: These collections include very offensive words. I urge you to not look at them in class.
“afinn”: Words ranked from -5 (very negative) to +5 (very positive)
get_sentiments(lexicon = "afinn")## # A tibble: 2,477 × 2
## word value
## <chr> <dbl>
## 1 abandon -2
## 2 abandoned -2
## 3 abandons -2
## 4 abducted -2
## 5 abduction -2
## 6 abductions -2
## 7 abhor -3
## 8 abhorred -3
## 9 abhorrent -3
## 10 abhors -3
## # ℹ 2,467 more rows# Note: may be prompted to download (yes)
# Let's look at the pretty positive words:
afinn_pos <- get_sentiments("afinn") %>%
filter(value %in% c(3,4,5))
# Do not look at negative words in class.
afinn_pos## # A tibble: 222 × 2
## word value
## <chr> <dbl>
## 1 admire 3
## 2 admired 3
## 3 admires 3
## 4 admiring 3
## 5 adorable 3
## 6 adore 3
## 7 adored 3
## 8 adores 3
## 9 affection 3
## 10 affectionate 3
## # ℹ 212 more rowsbing: binary, “positive” or “negative”
get_sentiments(lexicon = "bing")## # A tibble: 6,786 × 2
## word sentiment
## <chr> <chr>
## 1 2-faces negative
## 2 abnormal negative
## 3 abolish negative
## 4 abominable negative
## 5 abominably negative
## 6 abominate negative
## 7 abomination negative
## 8 abort negative
## 9 aborted negative
## 10 aborts negative
## # ℹ 6,776 more rowsnrc:https://saifmohammad.com/WebPages/NRC-Emotion-Lexicon.htm Includes bins for 8 emotions (anger, anticipation, disgust, fear, joy, sadness, surprise, trust) and positive / negative.
Citation for NRC lexicon: Crowdsourcing a Word-Emotion Association Lexicon, Saif Mohammad and Peter Turney, Computational Intelligence, 29 (3), 436-465, 2013.
Now nrc:
get_sentiments(lexicon = "nrc")## # A tibble: 13,872 × 2
## word sentiment
## <chr> <chr>
## 1 abacus trust
## 2 abandon fear
## 3 abandon negative
## 4 abandon sadness
## 5 abandoned anger
## 6 abandoned fear
## 7 abandoned negative
## 8 abandoned sadness
## 9 abandonment anger
## 10 abandonment fear
## # ℹ 13,862 more rowsLet’s do sentiment analysis on the IPCC text data using afinn, and nrc.
Sentiment analysis with afinn:
First, bind words in ipcc_stop to afinn
lexicon:
got_afinn <- got_stop %>%
inner_join(get_sentiments("afinn"))Let’s find some counts (by sentiment ranking):
got_afinn_hist <- got_afinn %>%
count(value)
# Plot them:
ggplot(data = got_afinn_hist, aes(x = value, y = n)) +
geom_col(aes(fill = value)) +
theme_bw()
Investigate some of the words in a bit more depth:
# What are these '2' words?
got_afinn2 <- got_afinn %>%
filter(value == 2)
got_afinn2 %>%
distinct(word)## # A tibble: 201 × 1
## word
## <chr>
## 1 smile
## 2 fine
## 3 glory
## 4 hope
## 5 smiled
## 6 care
## 7 strength
## 8 peaceful
## 9 honor
## 10 carefully
## # ℹ 191 more rows# Check the unique 2-score words:
unique(got_afinn2$word)## [1] "smile" "fine" "glory" "hope"
## [5] "smiled" "care" "strength" "peaceful"
## [9] "honor" "carefully" "slick" "top"
## [13] "gained" "comfort" "sweet" "courage"
## [17] "daring" "elegant" "justice" "heroes"
## [21] "fair" "strong" "brave" "solid"
## [25] "proud" "mercy" "rescue" "swift"
## [29] "smiling" "true" "noble" "saved"
## [33] "gift" "treasures" "favorite" "clean"
## [37] "rich" "fearless" "fortunate" "likes"
## [41] "earnest" "generous" "chances" "smiles"
## [45] "hug" "kiss" "approved" "fond"
## [49] "honored" "consent" "peace" "powerful"
## [53] "worthy" "humor" "entertaining" "save"
## [57] "sincerely" "festive" "careful" "stronger"
## [61] "bold" "eager" "favored" "warmth"
## [65] "pardon" "pardons" "healthy" "loving"
## [69] "chance" "thoughtful" "enjoy" "privileged"
## [73] "positively" "stout" "encouragement" "stable"
## [77] "smarter" "ease" "ambitious" "improvement"
## [81] "hopeful" "hopes" "relieved" "helping"
## [85] "cares" "importance" "favor" "tender"
## [89] "welcomed" "treasure" "spirited" "secured"
## [93] "courtesy" "calm" "resolved" "courageous"
## [97] "comfortable" "sympathy" "reassuring" "resolute"
## [101] "brisk" "appeased" "enjoying" "hoping"
## [105] "intricate" "rescued" "glorious" "adventures"
## [109] "friendly" "astonished" "reward" "trusted"
## [113] "honest" "clever" "dear" "favors"
## [117] "determined" "strengthen" "approval" "slicker"
## [121] "sincere" "jokes" "joke" "smartest"
## [125] "favorites" "hero" "adventure" "abilities"
## [129] "strongest" "courteous" "exasperated" "enjoys"
## [133] "rewarded" "cherished" "comforting" "robust"
## [137] "cherish" "sympathetic" "surviving" "cheered"
## [141] "worth" "boldly" "acquitted" "unstoppable"
## [145] "cheer" "fervent" "applause" "cheers"
## [149] "proudly" "compassionate" "bless" "success"
## [153] "supported" "kinder" "improved" "defender"
## [157] "tranquil" "helpful" "hail" "tops"
## [161] "thankful" "calmed" "sunshine" "opportunity"
## [165] "inspiration" "survived" "gain" "freedom"
## [169] "growth" "futile" "swiftly" "satisfied"
## [173] "congratulations" "confident" "pardoned" "energetic"
## [177] "esteemed" "benefit" "secure" "accomplished"
## [181] "support" "rewarding" "ability" "jovial"
## [185] "cheering" "hailed" "playful" "confidence"
## [189] "consents" "bargain" "encouraged" "relieving"
## [193] "accomplish" "resolve" "cleaner" "prominent"
## [197] "serene" "defenders" "strengthened" "wealthy"
## [201] "revive"# Count & plot them
got_afinn2_n <- got_afinn2 %>%
count(word, sort = TRUE) %>%
mutate(word = fct_reorder(factor(word), n))
ggplot(data = got_afinn2_n, aes(x = word, y = n)) +
geom_col() +
coord_flip() +
theme_bw()
# OK so what's the deal with confidence? And is it really "positive" in the emotion sense? Look back at the IPCC report, and search for “confidence.” Is it typically associated with emotion, or something else?
We learn something important from this example: Just using a sentiment lexicon to match words will not differentiate between different uses of the word…(ML can start figuring it out with context, but we won’t do that here).
Or we can summarize sentiment for the report:
got_summary <- got_afinn %>%
summarize(
mean_score = mean(value),
median_score = median(value)
)The mean and median indicate slightly positive overall sentiments based on the AFINN lexicon.
NRC lexicon for sentiment analysis
We can use the NRC lexicon to start “binning” text by the feelings they’re typically associated with. As above, we’ll use inner_join() to combine the IPCC non-stopword text with the nrc lexicon:
got_nrc <-got_stop %>%
inner_join(get_sentiments("nrc"))Wait, won’t that exclude some of the words in our text? YES! We
should check which are excluded using anti_join():
got_exclude <- got_stop %>%
anti_join(get_sentiments("nrc"))
# View(ipcc_exclude)
# Count to find the most excluded:
got_exclude_n <- got_exclude %>%
count(word, sort = TRUE)
head(got_exclude_n)## # A tibble: 6 × 2
## word n
## <chr> <int>
## 1 ser 1023
## 2 jon 787
## 3 ned 743
## 4 tyrion 591
## 5 eyes 567
## 6 hand 567Lesson: always check which words are EXCLUDED in sentiment analysis using a pre-built lexicon!
Now find some counts:
got_nrc_n <- got_nrc %>%
count(sentiment, sort = TRUE)
# And plot them:
ggplot(data = got_nrc_n, aes(x = sentiment, y = n)) +
geom_col(aes(fill = sentiment))+
theme_bw()
Or count by sentiment and word, then facet:
got_nrc_n5 <- got_nrc %>%
count(word,sentiment, sort = TRUE) %>%
group_by(sentiment) %>%
top_n(5) %>%
ungroup()
got_nrc_gg <- ggplot(data = got_nrc_n5, aes(x = reorder(word,n), y = n, fill = sentiment)) +
geom_col(show.legend = FALSE) +
facet_wrap(~sentiment, ncol = 2, scales = "free") +
coord_flip() +
theme_minimal() +
labs(x = "Word", y = "count")
# Show it
got_nrc_gg
# Save it
ggsave(plot = got_nrc_gg,
here("figures","got_nrc_sentiment.png"),
height = 8,
width = 5)Wait, so “confidence” is showing up in NRC lexicon as “fear”? Let’s check:
conf <- get_sentiments(lexicon = "nrc") %>%
filter(word == "confidence")
# Yep, check it out:
conf## # A tibble: 4 × 2
## word sentiment
## <chr> <chr>
## 1 confidence fear
## 2 confidence joy
## 3 confidence positive
## 4 confidence trustBig picture takeaway
There are serious limitations of sentiment analysis using existing lexicons, and you should think really hard about your findings and if a lexicon makes sense for your study. Otherwise, word counts and exploration alone can be useful!
Your task
Taking this script as a point of departure, apply sentiment analysis on the Game of Thrones. You will find a pdf in the data folder. What are the most common meaningful words and what emotions do you expect will dominate this volume? Are there any terms that are similarly ambiguous to the ‘confidence’ above?
Credits:
This tutorial is inspired by Allison Horst’s Advanced Statistics and Data Analysis.